
A FRIEND OF ITALY, 








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THE CHILD-HTJHTERS. 





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''VeiL^eance to the Wolves that devour the La-nnhs 

M.otto of the Italian Carbonari. 




THE 


Ohild-Huntees. 


BY 




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“ O, my soul, come not thou into their secret : unto their assembly, 
mine honor, be not thou united ^ — Holy Writ. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGEK, 

624, 626 & 628 Maeket Street. 

1877. 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by 
CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAPFELFINGER, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




- ^ 

J. FAGAN k SON. 
STEREOTYPE FOUNDERS, 
PHILADELPHIA. 




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■% ♦ 
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TO 

Messrs. E. P. and E. G. FABBEI, 

ITALIAN MERCHANTS OF NEW YORK, 

WHOSE GOOD DEEDS FOR THEIR COUNTRY ARE THE PRAISE 
OF ALL WHO KNOW THEM, 

BY 

The Author. 


1 * 


V 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. page 

The Mansion di Lapo 9 

CHAPTEE II. 

The Child-hunt 23 

CHAPTEE III. 

The Feast of the Huntees 35 

CHAPTEE lY. 

The Beeeaved Home 41 

CHAPTEE Y. 

Bound to America 49 

CHAPTEE YI. 

Arrival in New Yop^k 62 

CHAPTEE YII. 

Back to Italy 74 

CHAPTEE YIII. 

Den of the Padroni in America 80 

CHAPTEE IX. 

A Scene in the Den 92 

vii 


viii Contents. 

CHAPTER X. PAGE 

Strange Visitors 106 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Den Deserted 122 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Partners in Italy 140 

CHAPTER XIII. 

End of Gambrina 146 

CHAPTER XIY. 

End of Vincens and the Den 152 

CHAPTER XY. 

A Fold in the West of America 157 

CHAPTER XYI. 

In their New Home 161 

CHAPTER XYII. 

The Prairie Shelter 164 

CHAPTER XYIII. 

A Re union 167 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Pleasant Journey 170 

CHAPTER XX. 

Home at Last 174 


Addenda 


179 


THE 


OHILD-HUNTEKS. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE MANSION VI LAPO. 

Oft, what seems 

A trifle, a mere nothing in itself, 

In some nice situations turns the scale 
Of life, and rules the most important actions. 

Thompson, 

O N the banks of the beautiful river Arno, in the city 
of Florence, Italy, lived two native Italian families. 
They occupied the same house, which stood in a com- 
manding position, overlooking the water, the bridges, 
and the scenery of the country beyond. It was a 
venerable and artistic building; once the studio of 
the celebrated Tuscan sculptor, Arnolfi di Lapo, 
Here he designed the elegant statues which still adorn, 
the Ponte Della Santa Trinita — or Bridge of the Holy 
Trinity — one of the most splendid of the four bridges 
that span the Arno. 

Long years had elapsed since the death of its former 
occupants ; but traces of the magnificence of the an- 
cient building still remained. The arches, the niches, 
the classic windows and ceilings were the same, though 
the lofty passage-way that separated the two main 
rooms, on the first story, was now obstructed by a thin 
partition, reaching from the marble mosaic floor to the 

9 


10 


The Child' Hunters, 


circle of the arch. In the centre was a small door, 
for the ingress and egress of the present inhabitants. 
The front room, or that nearest the Arno, was tenanted 
by one family ; the rear room, looking toward the lofty 
amphitheatre of hills that crown the city of Florence, by 
another. With the characteristic sociability of the Ital- 
ian people, these two families lived together almost as 
one under the gorgeous roof of the Mansion di Lapo. 
There was but one principal entrance to the mansion, 
which required the families to pass and repass each 
other in frequent intercourse. Opportunities for friend- 
ly national greetings constantly occurred, so that the 
most intimate social relations grew up between them. 

The people of Tuscany, of which province Florence 
is the capital city, are proverbially courteous to each 
other, and equally polite to strangers. It was quite 
natural, therefore, that these two families, occupying 
together this old Italian mansion, should become inti- 
mate. 

The family in the great front room was composed of 
Manuel Garcia, together with his wife. Marguerite, and 
their young daughter, Lucia. The family in the rear 
room consisted of precisely the same number of per- 
sons, — Giovanni Ferenza, together with his wife, An- 
gela, and Lorette, their only daughter. They all had 
the appearance common to such Italians ; but, for the 
most part, there was a great disparity between the two 
fainilies. 

Manuel Garcia was a silent, retiring man of the 
world. His business was that of a superintendent in 
one of the white Parian marble-works with which 
Florence so much abounds. A flourishing establish- 
ment of this kind was located near the old Mansion 
di Lapo. 


The Mansion di Lapo, 


11 


Marguerite Garcia, the wife, was a sly, artful, design- 
ing woman ; the personification of superstitious selfish- 
ness; ever on the alert for a sharp bargain, and by low 
intrigue to compass her ends. Withal, she was a creat- 
ure of strong impulses and fierce passions; the em- 
bodiment of the warm climate in which she was born, 
with more of its mysterious than of its glowing sun- 
shine in her character. In the gratification of her in- 
stincts, conscience seldom opposed any obstacle; and 
if it did, she silenced its unwelcome monitions with 
the secret assurance that the stipend of money would 
secure her pardon in advance. 

Lucia Garcia, the bright daughter, was a beautiful 
Italian child. She was like a ray of sunshine let in be- 
tween the silent moodiness of the father and the misty 
superstition of the mother. Her lively character was 
the living link that bound in harmony together two 
opposite extremes. She had the dark complexion and 
glossy black hair peculiar to most Florentine children. 
Her eyes were large, black, keen and piercing. Her 
manner was intensely saucy and independent. iN’oth- 
ing of the kind could be more jaunty than her stjde 
of juvenile dress, especially the set of her Tuscan hat, 
with its broad band and black waving plume. When 
decked out in her holiday attire, to attend some gay 
Florentine festival, such as the Corso del Barheri, or 
the Kace of the Horses, without riders, which drew im- 
mense crowds to the open space in the longest street 
of Florence, she was considered one of the most at- 
tractive young girls in all the gay city. 

Mrs. Garcia was the mother of two boys. One of 
them had grown up wild and reckless under the irre- 
ligious influence of his home. He had run away from 
his parents to the neighboring seaport of Leghorn, 


12 


The Child- Hunters, 


and become a sailor. The call of his country, in her 
struggle for independence, soon compelled his ship- 
ment on board an Italian man-of-war. The other and 
younger son w^as serving as an apprentice, under his 
father, in the fashionable marble-works. 

All four of this family of Italians were victims of the 
spirit of the lazzaroni — the idle, worthless, vagabond 
spirit which has for so many ages been the curse and 
crime of Italy. They were swayed to and fro, like 
atoms in the wind, or like leaves floating on the stream, 
by habits of life that had grown well-nigh invincible by 
long-continued indulgence. They had no real restraint 
on the bad passions that controlled them ; no pleasant 
memories of the past ; no bright hopes of the future. 
They had a domestic hearthstone; but it was lit up 
by garish fires, it was warmed by fitful and uncertain 
heats. They had a family altar; but it was one of 
mere ornament, on which the flame was kept burning 
through clouds of stifling incense, that they were con- 
stantly kindling to superstition. Their dwelling was 
like an ornamented cave ; full of odors, bedecked with 
flowers, but without one really genial ray of comfort, 
or a single gleam of true refinement. It was the var- 
nish of low art, destitute of the genius of intelligence 
and piety, so common among the great mass of the 
families of Italy. No wonder such families have so 
long been a prey to the designing arts of the wicked. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ferenza, as we have already intimated, 
were quite different people from Mr. and Mrs. Garcia. 
Ferenza, the husband and father, was employed in one 
of the large floral establishment of Florence. Here 
he had become a proficient in the cultivation of those 
beautiful flowers and plants for which Florence has 
long been celebrated throughout the world. His wife 


The Mansion di Lapo, 


13 


occupied a suitable portion of her spare time, at home, 
in arra.nging bouquets for the Florentine and other 
markets. Many of her sweet floral clusters might be 
seen and their rich odors inhaled in the fashionable 
promenades and elegant parties of the day. 

They had no son. It was the wish of both father 
and mother that Lorette might choose their calling. 
She had already been well received in her rounds of 
visits as one of the most attractive flower-girls of Flor- 
ence. It was hoped that she might ultimately settle 
down as a permanent occupant of the old Mansion di 
Lapo, on the beautiful banks of the Arno, and be a 
flower merchant. 

Lorette Ferenza, like Lucia Garcia, was an ardent 
devotee of music. Like her, also, she had chosen that 
profession as her own. 

Although thus united in their choice, the two girls 
were in many other respects quite dissimilar in their 
characters. Lucia was bold, dashing, piquant and 
ambitious. Lorette was modest, retiring, gentle and 
humble in her aspirations. She cared more about 
doing good to others, less for herself. 

Lucia made herself familiar with almost every person 
she might chance to meet in her daily walks. Always 
chatty, always buoyant, she threw the charm of a 
genial girlish presence over every circle into which 
she happened to be cast. Lorette, while equally charm- 
ing and attractive, drew all to her with a silent grace 
that was as sweet as it was bewitching. 

Of the two girls, Lorette was the more beautiful and 
prepossessing. But the delicacy which was the promi- 
nent feature of her character kept her, at first, more 
out of public notice, and less likely at once to secure 
general applause — though, in the end, her attractions 
2 


14 


The Child- Hunters, 


proved fully equal to those of her companion. She 
selected for the accompaniment of her performances a 
small, neat guitar. 

Lucia chose the tinkling, noisy tambourine. Its 
every motion was an echo of her buoyancy. When 
dressed in full brigand style, her pet hat perched on 
top of her dark mass of curly hair, deftly displaying 
their raven gloss, she delighted to toss her little head 
with a jaunty air, and burst out, like a soaring lark, in 
a sudden transport of song. At the close, she was wont 
to shake her head, as she shook her tambourine, in tri- 
umphs of gayety — as if she felt that she had conquered 
the applause of the listener, and was determined to 
enjoy it. 

Lorette came forward to her audience with a slight, 
unassuming bow. She always conformed to the Italian 
custom of kissing the hand to the listener. Then, with 
a few short, delicate touches on her guitar, she sang 
her tender song. When she had finished, her eyes 
bent modestly before the gaze of her admiring listeners ; 
she gave one or two concluding touches on her instru- 
ment, and dropped a respectful curtesy. 

As you listened to these two gifted daughters of 
Italy, you were at a loss which to admire the most. 
They were both charming in their way. At one time 
you would admire Lorette the most ; at another time, 
Lucia. Still, when their performances were both over, 
and you drew the comparison in your judgment be- 
tween the two, there was, after all, a secret preference. 
Lucia dazzled, Lorette charmed. Lucia attracted the 
most public attention. Lorette secured the most silent 
and most lasting admiration. You were carried away 
by Lucia, as with a torrent of melody — dashing, foam- 
ing, full of sparkle and brilliancy. Then came Lo- 


The Mansion di Lapo. 


15 


rette, like a clear, full crystal river, with a surface re- 
splendent with the soft beams of pure light, steady 
and beautiful in the current that bore yon on. The 
flowing trills and murmurs of Lorette lingered longest 
in the memory. 

Thus far, however, the practice of these two gifted 
musical Italian girls was only the practice of the home 
circle. Florence has many such children. It is the 
birthplace of the greatest musical families of the world. 
Yet these two youthful and inexperienced artists were 
to be called to encounter the public of this renowned 
musical city in some of its most famous thoroughfares. 
A few of the immediate neighbors living in the ancient 
Piazza di Lapo, or Lapo Square, as it is called, had 
come into the venerable Mansion di Lapo, when invited, 
and listened in private to the performances of Lucia 
and Lorette. 

Among these gratified listeners was one Marco Vin- 
cens, an Italian padrone, or leader and patron of chil- 
dren, who resided in the neighborhood. He was the 
avowed enthusiastic admirer of the performances of 
both these musical girls. With the keen eye of his 
profession, he saw there was money in them ; and he 
was determined to get them under his control, that he 
might possess, if possible, all their future earnings. 

With consummate skill and tact, Vincens applied 
himself to the work of possessing both the children 
through flattery of their parents. He began, very 
shrewdly, with the mother of Lucia. He saw, at a 
glance, the weak points of Mrs. Garcia. Ah! how 
little did these two children know at that moment 
what scenes of future life were before them I 

Once, when there was to be a public financial scheme 
carried out on the Piazza di Duoino, or Square of the 


16 


The Child- Hunters, 


Grand Cathedral of Florence, the talents of the two 
children were called into requisition. They were to 
appear before the public in character. It was a severe 
test for such young performers. But the training of 
Mrs. Ferenza proved equal to the occasion. 

The amateur Lucia was to appear as a juvenile 
mountaineer. She came from Piedmont, and dressed 
and sang the character to perfection. Nothing of the 
kind could excel her jaunty dress or her dashing, off- 
hand manner, or her full, strong gushes of song, like 
the wild singing-birds of her native mountains. 

Lorette was a flower-girl from Etruria. In a neat, 
modest attire, charming and beautiful in its simplicity, 
she sold her bouquets to the sweet strains of her own 
native melody. 

All the exhibition was thoroughly Italian. Of course, 
it gave becoming satisfaction to the Italian company 
that thronged the great public square. It was a com- 
plete success; affording Lucia and Lorette a most 
happy introduction to their favorite pursuit. 

Like the serpent hidden in the leafy bowers of Eden, 
Marco Vincens was there. His evil eye watched every 
motion of the two girl performers. His artful ear 
listened to every one of their sweet songs. He was 
overjoyed when he beheld the shower of bouquets fall- 
ing on the stage, and heard the rapturous plaudits 
that burst from the assembled throng. It was the 
hour of innocent triumph to the children and their 
good object. It was the hour of a secret plot to Marco 
Vincens. The moment the performance was over, he 
lost no time in having another secret interview with 
Mrs. Garcia, and in taking additional steps, in concert 
with her, to carry out his plans. 

The padroni of Italy are a dark, mysterious, sly 


The Mansion di Lapo. 


17 


class of men — the descendants and allies of the most 
consummate villains of the Italian gipsy tribes. They 
are first among the most practised deceivers of the 
humbler families of Europe. Their skill in seducing 
parents to sell away the birthrights of their children, 
sometimes under the most specious promises of pecu- 
niary gains, sometimes with allurements of vulgar am- 
bition and ease, is well known to all European resi- 
dents and travellers who have become at all familiar 
with the traits of gipsy character, or the pursuits of the 
padroni. Marco Vincens was one of the most finished 
of this class of adepts in wickedness. He sought out 
his victim-children with the assiduity of a fiend that 
never tired. He plied his infernal arts with a skill 
that compassed all requisite knowledge. As Satan ap- 
proached the ear of Eve, so he approached Italian 
parents — not so much to possess them, as their chil- 
dren. He was a Child-Hunter. 

He knew Marguerite Garcia. He had known her 
from her youth up. He knew that her husband was 
as pliant in her hands as clay in the hands of the pot- 
ter. The absent son, then at sea, could take no ad- 
verse part. The opposition of the apprentice boy, 
should he make any, would be of no account. 

His plans were laid deeply and carefully. He must 
have both of the girls. One victim w’as not enough. 
Here arose his first difficulty — the consent of Mr. and 
Mrs. Ferenza. How, especially, could he obtain the 
consent of the fondly-loving mother of Lorette? If 
that consent could not be obtained, how could he carry 
off the girl, in spite of it? Have her, as the fitting 
companion of Lucia, he must and would. How was 
he to do it? 

His opening part of the plot was the appointment 
2* B 


18 


The Child- Hunters, 


of a meeting of all concerned at the Mansion di Lapo. 
Here began his secret plans. Flattery, hilsehood, 
bribery, were his chief tools with which to work, and 
well he knew, by experience, that they were more po- 
tent tools for such secret schemes than all the kits of 
the most accomplished burglar could supply. 

The evening for the meeting came. It was a clear 
Italian night. The elegant bridges across the lovely 
Arno were thronged with passing travellers. The lamps 
were all lit, and reflected their radiance, like so many 
clusters of great brilliant diamonds, in the still wa- 
ters of the river. Above the rows of splendid statues 
that stood on the principal bridge, alike monuments of 
his works and of the name of Di Lapo, the silent moon 
looked down on the scene. Beyond were the classic 
heights, that for so many ages have overlooked the 
walls and gates of Florence. Leading off from the 
main bridge stood the grand Cathedral Di Duoino — or 
Church of the Holy Mother. ^ The towers and spires 
in all parts of the city were resplendent with the sil- 
very light. The hanging gardens, the clustering vines, 
the tapering poplar-trees, gave their turrets and foliage 
to the dewy kisses of the moon; while the tide of 
living humanity passed on in teeming waves beneath 
its silent beams. 

On the lower side of the great Bridge of the Trinity^ 
the masterpiece of its class in Florence, if not in all 
Italy, might be seen stealthily creeping rapidly along 
the dark figure of a man. He was alone. His dress 
was a mixture of the clerical and mercantile style. He 
carried a stout stick in his right hand, as if disinclined 
to be molested in his way, although not using it for 
guidance or support. He turned his glance furtively 
around, seemingly looking for some one to meet him, 


The Mansion cli Lapo, 


19 


but pajung little or no attention to any one else in the 
thoroughfare. His path lay in the shadows of the dark 
side of the way. 

When he came to that part of the old Italian square 
leading to the main door of the Mansion di Lapo, he 
suddenly encountered the person he had evidently 
been anxiously seeking — a tall, dark man, with the 
visage of a brigand, wearing a low slouched hat, and 
dressed in the garb of a sailor. He was the captain of 
an emigrant and Italian merchant-ship, running be- 
tween the seaports of Leghorn and New York. This 
strong Tuscan city of Pisanio has one of the best har- 
bors on the shores of the great Mediterranean Sea, and 
has long been noted for its large commerce, especially 
with the United States of America. 

Captain Solfo del Paso was an adept of his class. 
Shrewd, cunning, an extensive traveller, well posted in 
the ways of the world, and especially in all the arts and 
mysteries of his extensive trade, he had made himself 
a perfect master of all the intricacies of the emigrant 
part of his business. He had secretly studied all the 
ins and outs of the approaches to Italian circles, where 
the most promising children suited to his purposes 
were to be found. His familiarity, as a sailor, with dif- 
ferent languages, gave him access to the parties with 
whom he wished to deal, in Italy, while his address 
made him equally at home with the padroni and 
other child-stealers in America. He knew his men. 
He knew his plans — and they were always matured, 
ready for instant action. 

Halloo ! Marco ! I say, is that you ? exclaimed the 
captain del Paso, as he emerged out of the darkness of 
the way into the light of the solitary ancient lamp that 
stood in front of the Di Lapo mansion. 


20 


The Child- Hunters, 


“Yes! this is me” replied the padrone, Vincens, as 
he came slily to the captain’s side, wrapping his cloak 
closely about him. “And I’m right glad that’s you. 
I began to think you would keep me waiting here all 
night, until everybody here in the house had gone to 
bed, and the street watchmen would take me uj) for a 
wanderer and a vagrant.” 

“You taken up for a wanderer and a vagrant!” sud- 
denly interrupted the captain. “Ha! ha! that’s a 
good joke — too good, by half, to be lost here in this 
misty night on the Arno ! A reputable citizen of your 
established character ‘a vagrant!’ A commercial gen- 
tleman so well known as you are, ^ a wanderer ! ’ Come, 
now, that will do, my dear Vincens ! It will, indeed ! 
Here, my ‘vagrant,’ or my ‘wanderer,’ whichever 
you like best, let’s step into this cassino vault, and 
wash that joke down with some old Cognac brandy. 
It’ll take the strongest we can find here to enable us to 
swallow that ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” retorted Vincens. “ We ’ve no time, at 
this late hour, to waste on such stuff. We’re on more 
important business, now. We ’ll talk about ‘vagrants’ 
and ‘ wanderers,’ after we ’ve bagged our game.” 

“ All right! ” exclaimed the captain, with a sardonic 
smile, as he opened his teeth, like a devouring beast, 
while they shone and glistened in the glare of the door- 
lamp. “ No danger of your forgetting that part of the 
play, I ’ll warrant. But, as you say, business before 
pleasure. Let ’s go in.” 

“ Here ’s the door ! ” whispered the padrone, hoarsely. 
“ F.ollow me ! ” 

These emphatic words were instantly followed by a 
loud rapping with the ancient Florentine knocker that 
hung loosely in the well-worn jaws of the shaggy lion’s 


The Mansion di Lapo, 


21 


head, that for more than a century had adorned the 
massive front door. 

Without waiting for any one to answer the call by 
coming to the old arched gateway, the two men silently 
opened the portal and as quietly entered. 

‘‘ Stop a moment,” said the captain to the padrone, 
in a low, husky whisper. 

They paused hastily, and came closer together in the 
dark and dusty hall. 

They were standing on the classic spot where, more 
than a hundred years before, the great Italian artist 
had stood. 

“ No one seems to have heard our knock,” continued 
the captain. “We are not likely to be interrupted 
here, at least for a few moments. I ’ve a word, Vin- 
cens, for your private ear.” 

“Say on,” brusquely, but cautiousl}^ replied the 
padrone. 

“Well, then, listen; and mind you take heed to what 
I say,” the captain replied. “Are yoi,i quite sure, 
Vincens, that we perfectly understand each other as to 
the details of this affair ? ” 

“ I think we do, captain.” 

“ You think we do ? That ’ll not answer, padrone Vin- 
cens. We must not only think we do — we must be 
sure we do ! Look me straight in the eye, Marco. Do 
you remember the vows we made to each other, just as 
we came out, side by side, from the confessional at the 
cathedral di Duomo f ” 

“Yes, captain.” 

“ Ah ! you answer very flippantly ' yes, captain ! ’ to 
everything I say. Now, Marc, I can get just such an 
answer as that from any smart parrot I bring from the 
island of Madeira. Answer me directly, Marco Vin- 


22 


The Child- Hunters, 


cens! Do you know^ on the peril of your soul, exactly 
what you have bound yourself to me to do, in this mat- 
ter of these Florentine children ? 

“ On the peril of my soul, I do,” slowly responded 
the padrone, still looking the captain steadily in his 
eyes, that at the instant were flashing darkly upon 
him. 

And do you now re-swear to me here ? ” added the 
captain, clutching the padrone by the hand, as they 
drew still closer in the gloomy and dusty passage. 

Do you swear, padrone,” the captain continued, his 
husky voice growing still more husky, and sinking to 
the lowest possible whisper, that you will render to 
the treasurer of our firm an exact account of all you 
receive for the hire of these children?” 

“ I swear ! ” responded the padrone. 

^‘On the peril of your soul?” asked the captain. 

On the peril of my soul ! ” answered the padrone. 

^^Noiv we do understand each other,” quickly added 
the captain, raising his voice, and speaking with em- 
phasis. Go in ! ” he continued, waving his bronzed 
hand with an imperious gesture, and pointing with his 
bony forefinger to the inner door. “ These two beauti- 
ful girls of Italy are at our mercy ! ” 

In silence and darkness they entered. 



CHAPTEK IL 

THE CHILD-HUNT. 


The tear down childhood’s cheek that flows, 

Is like the dew-drop on the rose ; 

When next the summer breeze comes by, 

And waves the bush, the tear is dry. 

Scott. 

I T was the room of the family of the Garcias. The 
Ferenzas were there. The two girls, Lucia and Lo- 
rette, sat quietly by. The tambourine of Lucia leaned 
idly against the wall. On the little centre-table, in the 
middle of the room, lay in silence the guitar of Lorette. 
The vaulted ceiling, stuccoed with sundry relics of the 
great master, Di Lapo, hung over the scene a life-like 
picture of a bygone age. In the small niches, on pro- 
jecting brackets, stood images of Christ and the Virgin 
Mary, while crosses and other memorials of religious 
faith were interspersed around. The. soft Italian sky 
poured in the dim light of evening, and the solitary 
taper on the Parian marble mantel shed a faint radi- 
ance on the faces of all present. The silence was as 
deep and dread as that of an empty tomb. 

Immediately on entering, the captain and padrone 
assumed the air of men born to command. They 
showed by their manner that they felt that everything 
in the room, nay, in the house itself, including the 
occupants of men, women and children, belonged 
wholly to them. 


23 


24 


The Child- Hunters, 


The captain coolly took possession, with the slightest 
nod of recognition, of the chair obsequiously proffered 
him, and imperiously motioned Vincens to help him- 
self to another. 

The padrone assumed a more demure look — a sly, 
dark, cunning expression of visage — as if he had a 
favor to ask, and was resolved on using every possible 
art to secure it. He removed his Florentine cap, 
smoothed down his raven hair, stroked his glossy 
beard, and gave a stolen glance from beneath his 
black, shaggy eyebrows, that was full of subtle mean- 
ing. It was the glance of the basilisk in his lair — the 
gleam of the eye of the tiger before he makes his 
spring. He was a beast of prey, hunting hungrily for 
his victims among unprotected parents and helpless 
little children. He was a Child-Hunter. 

There sat one father, Manuel Garcia, with a min- 
gled look of anxiety and fear on his countenance; and 
yet giving sad proof that he was already submitting, in 
advance, to the spoilers of his home. He seemed to 
show that he felt his bereavement in anticipation, and 
was stolidly thinking how he might repair the wrong 
he was about to suffer by the pursuit of his calling. 
His poor, ignorant mind was silently seeking for con- 
solation among his purlieus of Tuscan marbles. Mrs. 
Garcia, on the contrary, listened with the deepest in- 
terest. She knew what was coming, what the proposal 
was which the captain and padrone had come to make. 
Her large black eyes sparkled and flashed with the 
hidden light that was behind and shone through them. 
Her fingers twitched nervously, as she listened to the 
conversation that had at once commenced. She acted 
as if she were already clutching the much-coveted 
treasure that was to come to her from the sale of 
her child. 


The Child- Hunt, 


25 


Lucia, the pert pet, the gay coquette, looked on with 
idle indifference. She seemed to say, by her flippant 
manner, that she cared but little what became of her, 
so she had plenty of fine clothes, gay times, and crowds 
of admirers. At the very moment her liberty was 
being bargained away, she, giddy girl! was planning 
a new fancy attire, and a scene of street display. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ferenza were both taken by surprise. 
They looked dejected, and showed by their manners 
that they were sad at heart. They knew, alas! the 
professional calling of the padrone, the hunter and en- 
slaver of children. They knew the commercial power 
of the captain ; and that they were as clay in his grasp. 
As true parents, even ignorant and superstitious as they 
had grown up to be in the fair land of Italy, they could 
not shut their eyes to the lessons of the past ; and they 
therefore dreaded these omens of the future. 

Was their dear Lorette indeed to be taken from 
them? Was she to be carried away from their lowly 
home, to be subject to all the caprices of strangers, in 
a strange and far-off land ? 

A copy of the New Testament, in the Italian lan- 
guage, had been placed in their hands by the good 
providence of God. A Christian lady from America, 
visiting Florence, while purchasing flowers of Lorette, 
had given her the holy book. Both parents and child 
had learned to read it sufficiently to be able to trace on 
its inspired pages, this question : 

‘ Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles f ^ 

Beading on a little further, the same infallible book 
had answered the question to them in the words of our 
Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ: 

^ Even so, every good tree hringeth forth good fruit; hut 
a con'upt tree hnngeth forth evil fruit. 

3 


26 


The Child- Hunters, 


^Wherefore, by their fruits ye shall know them.' 

Mrs. Ferenza thought of these true and living* words 
of Christ, as she quietly listened to the cunningly-de- 
vised fables of the captain and padrone. The tears 
stole silently into her downcast eyes. She thought 
of her dear lamb, nestling in her bosom ; and she felt 
as if ravening wolves had forced themselves into her 
home-fold to steal the darling one away, to be torn in 
pieces. The dreaded child-hunters were indeed upon 
them. 

Mr. Ferenza, faithful and true father, shared fully in 
the trembling solicitude of his wife. Sadly and silently 
he turned away from the chattering padrone, and from 
the more reticent and dark-eyed captain. His heart 
sank within him. Poor Lorette ! He saw her hunted 
like a partridge in its cot, with no one really able to 
protect. 

She stood by the table, on which laid her sweet guitar, 
between both her parents. Her swimming eyes were 
fixed moodily on the floor. Like a chaste statue of her 
own Italy, she was as fair as Parian marble and as 
pure. Not a limb or a muscle moved as she gazed 
into the dim and uncertain future. Her fine features 
were shaded as the light streamed in upon them, as if 
at the moment a cloud were passing in the sunny sky. 

The child-hunt was now at the full. The fences 
around the homestead were being broken down. The 
feet of ruthless invaders were rudely and cruelly tramp- 
ling down the flowers that grew in that humble parterre. 
Tlie hunters pressed on, like men who were sure of 
their victims. Slily and secretly they signalled to one 
another, and sprang with overmastering strength on 
their unprotected game. 

A bound — a clutch — a thrill: and the child-hunt 
was over ! 


The Child-Hunt, 


27 


There was a third hunter in this hunt for life. A 
stranger came suddenly in. He was an old man. His 
countenance was more swarthy than was usual, even 
among the common people of Southern Italy. His 
person was low and slightly bent. A sharp goatee 
beard protruded from his sharp chin, like the hook of 
a beast of prey. His eyes were deeply set in his head, 
beneath long, dark, shaggy eyebrows, and glowed with 
a shrouded light, like the fire of a furnace from beneath 
its overhanging doors. His step was rapid and ner- 
vous, like that of a person who was on an anxious 
errand, and yet fearful that it might fail of its end. 

This stranger was Adolph Marina, a fruit and spice 
merchant of Florence. He had been in business many 
years, and amassed a fortune. But he was a miser, and 
eagerly longed for more money. His shop was on the 
Quay VArno. Here, under cover of his traffic in the 
customary wares of his calling, he was a silent and 
secret partner in the guilty brigandage of stealing, the 
buying ' and selling little Italian children. He had 
branch establishments in Pisa, Leghorn, and other 
ports on the Mediterranean. There were parties allied 
with this wicked man in different portions of the United 
States of America. The captain and padrone were their 
active agents. 

Signor Adolph Marina ! He passed for a nice gentle- 
man — a very nice gentleman — among those who did 
not know his real character, on the Florence Merchants’ 
Exchange. An equally nice lady — a very nice lady — 
was signora Marina, the merchant’s wife. She moved 
in some of the most fashionable Florentinian circles. 
Some there were who disliked to recognize her social 
equality. But they were accustomed to school them- 
selves to civility in her company, on account of the 


28 


The Child- Hunters, 


favors the business of her husband was capable of 
affording to their gay festivals and parties of pleasure. 

The Marina family lived in style, near the old cathe- 
dral Duomo di Santa Maria. Here, in large apartments 
overlooking the commercial part of the river, the hus- 
band and wife dwelt in a solitary grandeur. They were 
surrounded by many works of art. But it was easy for 
the practised eye to see that they were works that 
had all, or nearly all, been saved by salvage from the 
wrecked fortunes of their neighbors. Statues and pic- 
tures of rare skill and great value stood here and there, 
and hung carelessly on the antiquated walls, which 
gave indubitable evidence of having adorned some an- 
cient palace or garden, whose proprietors had gone 
into earth, or insolvency, and their estates into decay 
and ruin. 

Here, among these diverse relics of pawnbroking 
splendor, like poisonous spiders in their dens, the two 
rich sharpers plotted deeply for plunder and profit. In 
the day-time they bought and sold the rich fruits of 
Italy, mingled with occasional works of art. At night 
their dealings were with Italian parents and children — 
buying and selling the little ones, like cattle in the 
shambles. When not visiting some gay salon, or fashion- 
able theatre, circus, or concert hall, they received their 
guests with a richness of reception, a gaiety of style, 
that was replete with the warm geniality of the Ital- 
ian court. All the while they were planning how they 
might add to their ill-gotten gains, at the expense of 
some ruined family circle. The unprotected children 
of Tuscany, Etruria, and Piedmont, and even of more 
distant parts, were constantly laid under contribution 
by these adepts in guile. 

So cunningly did they pursue their vocation, that the 


The Child-Hunt, 


29 


civil authorities were thrown off their guard. Many a 
noble visitor passed through the Marina parlors, and 
traversed the adjacent grounds of the establishment, 
without being at all aware of the business that was car- 
ried on in secret by the proprietors. 

Alas! the strong webs of these human tarantulas, 
and of others like them, were not confined to Florence, 
or even to Italy. They reached across the wide waters 
of the ocean to the far-off shores of America. Many a 
heart was at that moment aching in its American wan- 
derings, that had been poisoned from the den of the 
Marinas. The earnings of many an Italian child-life 
came ba,ck to that den from the purlieus of the cities of 
America; leaving the plundered parents and children to 
suffer and mourn without redress. The money dropped 
into the dirty box or cup, or the still dirtier hand of the 
Italian padrone, who dragged his stolen children along 
with his organ, or other instrument, through American 
thoroughfares, found its way almost invariably into the 
gilded coffers of some Italian merchant, speculator or 
child-procurer, who dwelt in luxury, idleness and dissi- 
pation at home. The poor half-starved children earned 
the money. The padroni and their accomplices squan- 
dered much on themselves. The rich child-hunters 
pocketed the chief plunder. 

Mrs. Marina was the cashier of the Marina firm. 
She kept the safe of money as well as the house. 
The key of the strong box was always in her hands. 
She took good care that no one but herself and her 
guilty partners should know how it was accumulated 
and how it was disposed of. She had very few inti- 
mate friends. It was not surprising that Mr. and Mrs. 
Garcia should be of the number. They had learned 
to know her. She had quickly learned them. When, 
3 * 


80 


2he Child- Hunters. 


therefore, signor Marina abruptly entered this con- 
ference at the Mansion di Lapo, he was welcomed 
warmly by Mrs. Garcia, as an expected guest. Both 
the captain and the padrone greeted him as an ally, 
whose skill and facilities were quite indispensable. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ferenza and Lorette looked on the 
interview with suspicion. They saw that it was evi- 
dently pre-arranged. Lucia, with her coquettish and 
fickle airs, was soon tired of the whole scene, and 
heartily wished it was well over. She languished idly 
in her seat, and longed to be dressed in her gayest at- 
tire, again on the streets or piazzas of Florence, tambou- 
rine in hand, to shake its tiny ))ells to the music of 
her captivating voice, to be followed, flattered and 
admired. 

The trinity of iniquity, — the captain, the padrone, 
and the luerchant, — or, rather, the quartette of de- 
ceivers, for the artful Mrs. Garcia must be included 
here watched every movement of both these Italian 
families. The captain put on his naost cunning smile, 
that flitted over his face under the secret impulses of 
deception that were at the moment fluttering in his 
heart. The padrone was humming a low popular air, 
as if he were mentally calculating how its notes, in the 
voices of these two children, could be most rapidly and 
most safely coined into money for his own purse. The 
merchant kept casting furtive glances from one object 
to another, as if searching for approaching danger and 
the easiest avenues of escape. Mrs. Garcia sat at her 
ease in her fanciful chair, evidently feeling that she 
was mistress of the whole situation. 

It required but a few moments to divulge the plan of 
campaign. The padrone was introduced as a gentle- 
man soon to depart for America. In his most oily 


The Child-Hunt. 


31 


tones the captain descanted on his mission. The mer- 
chant came forward, just in the nick of time, to an- 
nounce, with great pleasure, that all the details of the 
voyage had been carefully arranged in advance. The 
trio had called to consummate the business in the most 
agreeable manner possible. The contracts were to be 
binding on the parents and children, and extend for 
three years from date. 

First of all — complete possession of the two daugh- 
ters was to be signed and sealed to the padrone. They 
were to accompany him to America; remain always 
with him in that country ; and follow his footsteps and 
his fortunes as street singers and musicians. 

They were parentally and as chattels bound, by 
authority of the merchant, who was also a civil magis- 
trate. That benevolent gentleman had kindly assumed 
all the trouble and expense of transportation across 
the ocean. Hence, all the earnings of the children 
were to pass through his hands, as a matter of security, 
until his kindness was all repaid. It would be such a 
bother to have these stipends remitted to the four parents, 
that the generous merchant, with his equally generous 
wife to assist him, would manage that little matter of 
business — being, as everybody knew, an accomplished 
and successful business man — without the least diffi- 
culty in the world. Mrs. Garcia was to be the domestic 
agent for the two families ; and, of course, she would 
manage that all right. 

The padrone, in short, was to be the all-in-all to the 
children in America. They were, in fact, to be regarded 
as his personal property, his child-vassals, his bonded 
goods and chattels. All they earned was his. Nothing 
was to come to their parents, except by his knowledge 
and permission; and even that had to pass through 


32 


The Child- Hunters, 


the palms of the merchant Marina and his shrewd 
cashier, his wife. 

When this whole scheme was developed, there was 
an ominous silence in that quaint old room in the 
Mansion di Lapo. Not a word was spoken for some 
moments. The parties sat around the ancient knightly 
table, one of the artistic relics of the venerable place, 
silently looking at each other. The light of the moon, 
that had now risen, full-orbed, over the dark waters of 
the Arno, streamed down into the room through the 
lofty Florentinian window that yet graced the stuccoed 
wall. Mrs. Garcia, who sat where the beams fell full 
upon her face, revealing the art that reigned over every 
feature, and the tact with which she had arrayed her- 
self for the occasion, was the first one of the party to 
lead off the conversation. 

With her own consummate skill she adapted every 
look, word, and gesture to its intended mission. It was 
in a moment seen that she was most desperately in 
earnest. 

“For my part,^’ said she, with a flippant toss of her 
giddy head, that was well-nigh inimitable, “7 believe 
every word these gentlemanly visitors have told us. 
Certainly, they are very, very kind to make us such 
generous offers. To be sure, as for the matter of that, 
it ’ll be desperate hard for me to part with my dear, dear 
Lucia ! ” 

As she spoke, a look in a certain direction gave proof 
that she did not regard the opinions and wishes of her 
husband of much account, any way. 

There was money to be made ; and that was all she 
cared for. 

“These good friends,” she continued, “know all 
about what is best — a great deal better than we do. 


The Child- Hunt, 


33 


There’s the gentlemanly padrone,” she exclaimed, 
vivaciously, and glancing pertly toward that chief of 
the hunters; “/ie, of course, will personally be all the 
time with the children, and will be sure to see that 
everything goes as merry as a marriage-bell. The 
merchant, signor Marina, we all know, is immensely 
rich. Certainly he will make it sure that nothing in 
his department goes wrong. And then, there ’s his 
beautiful and accomplished lady, the signora ! Such a 
pattern of piety and devotion as she is, will place our 
incomes beyond a doubt — of course she will! Let us 
settle this little affair at once, and be done with it ! ” 

Pausing a moment in triumph, she nodded her arti- 
ficial head-gear, and sailed out of the room — like a 
victorious ship-of-war leaving port with all colors flying. 

It was to her a carnival of vanity, avarice and con- 
quest. The padrone, the captain and the merchant 
gave her sundry expressive glances as she moved away. 
There was a moment of still more expressive silence. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ferenza, with their Lorette beside them, 
were the only persons in the room who looked as they 
felt — sad and sorrowful at heart. They alone acted 
with the natural sympathy becoming the scene. Their 
surprise gradually gave way to anguish, that partly 
found its final vent in tears. But, alas! on the side 
of their oppressors there was power ; and they had no 
helper. They could only weep, and sigh, and — submit. 

Glancing furtively at each other; the three child-hunt- 
ers withdrew silently from the room. Mrs. Garcia im- 
mediately beckoned to her husband and Lucia. They 
both at once responded, and together all passed out. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ferenza were now left alone with the 
chief commercial plotter — captain del Paso. That 
arch-villain understood his part well, and instantly 

C 


34 


The Child- Hunters, 


proceeded to perform it. He began with smiles and 
promises, gradually proceeding to threats and appeals 
to the fears of his unprotected victims. Full well he 
knew that they were completely in his power — as 
many similar Italian parents had been before, and as 
many more will be after them. 

When the child-hunter left that lonely and silent 
room in Florence, these parents and their child were 
bound, hand and foot, like cattle for the shambles. 



CHAPTER III. 

THE FEAST OF THE HUNTERS. 

The love of gold, that meanest, blindest rage, 

And darkest folly of man’s fleeting age. 

Which, rarely venturing in the van of life. 

While nobler passions wage their heated strife, 

Comes skulking in, with selfishness and fear. 

And dies collecting lumber in the rear. 

Moore, 

A TAP at the door. * It was one of the servants of 
the merchant Marina, announcing that signora 
Marina awaited him at home. 

Mr. Ferenza answered to the call that the signor had 
but just left the Mansion di Lapo. It was not known 
whither he had gone. 

The padrone, Marco Vincens, the valet was further 
informed, had left in company with his master. 

The servant retired, and returned at once directly to 
the house of signor Marina. As he anticipated, the 
signor was already there. The two had passed each 
other unnoticed on the way. 

The great parlor of the merchant was brilliantly 
lighted, and there w^as music in the hall. The flashing 
glass chandeliers sent out their radiance across the 
quay and over the waters of the Arno. The great 
stream slept in the silent darkness beyond, as the gentle 
night winds blew softly over it, and the rippling waves 
dashed idly against the massive stone piers. 


35 


36 


The Child-Hunters, 


On entering the house to report the result of his mis- 
sion to his imperious mistress, he observed that not 
only was his master present, but that several other 
persons were with him. 

By previous appointment, the party was composed 
of padrone Vincens, captain del Paso, and Mrs. Mar- 
guerite Garcia. Manuel Garcia was not there. His 
place was deftly supplied by signora Marina, who was 
resplendent in silks and diamonds. Her aim was to 
be the shining light of the evening. She had quickly 
learned from her husband what had been done — and 

well done,” as she said — at the Mansion di Lapo. It 
was a bouncing triumph of her diplomacy. 

Now came the echoes of her victory over the op- 
pressed children of Italy, from the apex of her delectable 
mountains. They rang and trilled around the parlors 
and halls of the Marina castle on the Quay VArno. The 
gay scene was replete with the adroit hilarity of my 
lady of the hour. Her dark plot had succeeded. The 
money was sure to come from the generous Americans. 
Her share, as silent partner and cashier of the firm of 
child-hunters, Marina, Wife & Company, was to be — 
all she saw fit to make it. The dashing signora, there- 
fore, was supremely happy. The child-hunt was a suc- 
cess ! 

One peculiar pleasure of the signora was that there 
were some details of the plot yet to be finished. On 
these she was to ply her practised hand. To perfectly 
complete them, would be the consummation of her 
happiness. 

Soft lounges and luxurious divans were ranged 
around the spacious apartments. The whole com- 
pany were soon at their ease. All felt that a smart 
thing had been done, and they were bound to enjoy it. 


The F east of the Hunters, 37 

The preliminaries to the concluding arrangements 
were soon to be dispatched. Avarice is a passion that 
illy brooks delay. 

The children hunted for had been caught. They 
had been bound in strong toils for the market. The 
human goods and chattels were at once to be duly 
delivered and consigned to their legal owners. 

Welcome, my guests ! said signora Marina, as the 
company filed into the sumptuous apartments to the 
sound of dancing music. “ This is the hour and power 
of our joint triumph. Let us all enjoy it together! 
It ’s a glorious night for the Quay VArno ! Eh I signor 
Marina ? 

“Decidedly so, signora. This is one of those rare 
occasions where pleasure and profit go hand in hand. 
It is profitable to know, in advance, that our pleasure 
is all paid for by others! By the way, Del Paso, — ah! 
pardon me, signor, I should have addressed you as 
* brave captain,’ — that was a cool and consummate 
stroke of policy in you, so quickly to capture not only 
the child Lorette, but her father and mother, too.” 

“Do you think so, signor?” responded the captain, 
with a cunning chuckle. “ Oh, that was easy enough 
done ! ” 

“ How ’s that ? ” asked the signor. 

“ Oh, the moment I was alone with them, I had 
them. What promises didn’t do, threats did. These 
poor people of Italy, especially those in dependent 
callings, are all of them living next door to slavery. 
Only a thin partition between.” 

“ That ’s so ! ” responded the signor. “ And that ’s 
the way it ought to be. The chattels of labor have 
no right to be anything else but chattels themselves ! ” 
Qiden sabe! as the Spaniards have it,” continued 
4 


38 


The Child-Hunters, 


the captain, with a shrug. “ Can’t say as to that. I ’m 
a poor man myself, and therefore speak and act as a 
poor man. You are a rich man, signor Marina, and 
can hardly be expected to feel for the poor.” 

Listen to the music, captain ! ” cried the signor, 
raising his voice. 

“ This way — this way all ! ” suddenly interrupted 
signora Marina, as the band struck up a lively Italian 
air. “ Here is the throne of my dominion, signor 
Marina — if you please — I reign here by royal 
right ! ” 

“Nay, my regal mistress,” replied Marina, “we are 
joint occupants of the throne. I will unite with you 
in the edicts, and you, as my fellow sovereign, shall 
see that they are obeyed. Alberti ! ” he continued, 
addressing one of the servants, “our best Tuscan 
wines first; next our oldest cogniac brandj^” 

“So you believe in progress, do you, signor?” in- 
quired the captain, archly. 

“ Yes,” responded the merchant. “ But what am I 
to understand by the question ? ” 

“ I mean;” said the captain, “ that you are going on 
from weak wine to strong brandy.” 

“ The stronger the better ! ” mifttered between his 
teeth the padrone, as he quaffed his full bumper of 
cogniac. 

“ My blessing on you all, my dear children ! ” ex- 
claimed signora Marina, with a significant leer. 

“ If you please, signor,” added the captain, making a 
low obeisance to the host, and a still lower one to the 
hostess, “I will take some of both kinds; then I shall 
know, by a happy experience, which I like best.” 

“We hope you will like both equally well, gallant 
commander,” lisped the signora, with her sweetest 


89 


The Feast of the Hunters, 

tones and condescending curtesy. ‘^Our little enter- 
tainment is made mainly on your account. We are 
more indebted to you, captain, for the success of this 
capture of these fine children, than to any one else. 
No liquor is too choice, no viand too rich, no regalia 
too elegant for the captain del Paso.^’ 

^^You honor me overmuch, beautiful signora,” re- 
sponded the captain, laying his hand on his breast, and 
making his most gallant bow. “ Do you forget that if 
you assign me the lion’s share of the hunt, I shall ex- 
pect the lion’s share of the prey ? ” 

Signora Marina was silent. Padrone Vincens, ever 
on the alert, had overheard the sly hint, and recog- 
nized its hidden meaning with a savage scowl. 

The merchant, who entered the circle at that mo- 
ment, and who had also caught the captain’s threat, 
looked furtively and meaningly at his wife, as he added 
in an undertone : 

Remember, my mistress, that you are the treasurer 
of this concern ! ” 

Raising his voice, he cried : 

Now for cards and songs ! ” 

Signora Marina’s song ! ” echoed all the invited 
guests. 

The accomplished receiver of this drunken gang of 
child- thieves made haste to obey the call. It was the 
quickest way of relieving herself of obstreperous impor- 
tunity. She sank majestically into the soft seat at her 
magnificent piano. There was not a grander one in 
all Italy — not in princely halls or royal palaces. 
Right regally did signora Marina sing and play. She 
was inspired alike by flattery, wine and conquest. 
The unprotected offspring of her poor Italian neighbors 
were lying at that moment at her feet, and she felt 


40 


The Child- Hunters, 


that she was trampling upon them, as she did upon 
the lamb-skin rug on her gorgeous carpet. 

It was far on in the early morning when that convivial 
party broke up. With clapping hands and lusty cheers 
they cried to one another across the empty bottles and 
glasses, and among the wild strains of the band : 

Long live Italy ! Long live the United States of 
America! Long live the children to be hunted; and 
long live we to hunt them ! 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE BEREA VED HOME. 


Go when the hunter’s hand hath wrung 
From forest cave her shrieking young, 

And calm the lonely lioness — 

But mock, oh ! mock not my distress ! 

Giaour, 

F ar different was the scene that transpired that 
bacchanalian night in the classic old room of the 
Ferenzas. The little family of father, mother and 
daughter had spent all the hours in a state of anxiety 
bordering on despair. 

Their guests had departed, and left them to solitude 
and silence. They retired to their lonely beds — but 
alas! not to repose. The dark shadows of an Italian 
night gathered densely around them, and brooded in 
the vapors of the river on the Mansion di Lapo. One 
by one the public vehicles passed from the main 
thoroughfares. Here and there a private carriage 
rolled along to and from its place of destination. The 
doors of the theatres and halls of amusement were all 
closed. The lamps of the streets and squares burned 
dimly through the cold and thick night air. The ve- 
randas were in darkness, and only here and there a 
flickering taper glimmered through the closed blinds 
of the dwelling-houses of Florence. Every shop had 
shut up its doors, locked its gates, and barred its win- 
dows. The solitary watchmen paraded their rounds 
4 * 41 


42 


The Child- Hunters. 


with a slow and measured tread, as if fearful of disturb- 
ing the slumbers of the innocent citizens, or of prevent- 
ing their detection of such villains as hopes of plunder 
had led out into the gloom. Beneath low archways, 
and along the edges of secluded passages, might be 
sebn mysterious lazzaroni, clad in heavy cloaks, to shield 
them from the dampness of the night, as they kept 
their vigils of guilt in their haunts of crime. 

Beside the little table in the centre of the room on 
which rested the guitar of Lorette, a dim lamp was 
burning on the mantel. A beautiful picture of the 
great artist, the founder and architect of the noble 
mansion, looked out from its frame on the wall, as if 
the artist himself would come in the shadows of his 
former home to commiserate the sorrows of these poor 
Italians he had left behind. 

All through that sleepless night, the Ferenza family 
had spent the weary hours in talking to one another 
of the scenes that had just transpired among them. 
Their minds were still in the dreamy shadows of super- 
stition. They had received some light by the Christian 
influences that had begun to permeate some parts of 
Italy ; but they could only discern the truth imperfectly 
— like the blind slowly recovering their sight, only 
enough to see men as trees walking. 

Like many other Italian families, it was almost 
wholly dependent on the caprices of fashion, or the 
uncertainties of foreign demand and supply. By the 
sudden fading of flowers, or by the still more disastrous 
spread of frosts, or the blight of arid miasma, all 
their little gains might perish in a day or night. All 
they had earned by the care of a whole season in the 
garden, might wdther and die in an hour; so pre- 
carious is the calling of the humble and lowly florist of 


The Bereaved Home, 


43 


Italy. How much do such families depend on their 
children! Among many of such circles, when the 
gifted and industrious children are gone, all is gone ! 
But little is left but the crushed and bruised flower — 
without the odor and without the tint. 

Thus crept the mists of the morning over that little 
family circle in the great and gay city of Florence. 

Mrs. Ferenza, sick and feeble, had risen from her 
pillow, still wet with tears. She had groped her totter- 
ing way into the adjoining room, and set about pre- 
paring the scant repast of the famil3^ She would not 
call her husband at that early hour, for she knew he 
needed all the rest he could possibly obtain, after hav- 
ing passed so weary and watchful a night, to flt him for 
the arduous duties of the day. Neither would she 
summon Lorette to her side, faint as she herself was 
at that moment, for she felt in her heart as if it might 
be her duty very soon to prepare a parting breakfast 
for her darling child. 

There came to Mrs. Ferenza, in the gray of that 
Italian morning, a remembrance of the little American 
tract that her daughter had learned to read to her. It 
was a comfort to her bleeding heart. It told her of Jesus 
— of Jesus, the Man of Sorrows, the acquainted with 
grief. She was taught by that little messenger from 
far-off America, that her own countryman, the great 
Genoese sailor, had discovered centuries ago, how that 
same meek and lowly Saviour of the world had borne 
her griefs and carried her sorrows in His own body on 
the tree. 

True, the pure light of practical Christianity was only 
just dawning on that poor afflicted Italian woman’s 
mind ; but, faint as were its beams, it was a heavenly 
light, that brought healing and consolation on its wings. 


44 


The Child- Hunters, 


There came to her mind, in that dark hour of trial, the 
sweet words of the Holy Bible : 

* That they should seek the Lord; if, haply, they might 
feel after Him, and find Him : though He he not far from 
every one of usJ 

At that moment there fell a soft step on the floor. 
She looked up quietly from her work. Her eyes met 
those of Lorette, who had stolen gently into the room. 

<< Why, Lorette, my child ! What made you get up 
so early?” said the mother, in a tender voice. 

Oh ! dear mother,” replied Lorette, as she ran quickly 
up and kissed the waiting and trembling lips, “ I have 
not slept good all night long. Every once in a while 
I heard you and papa mourning. At times I knew you 
were sobbing and weeping over me. How could I 
sleep? Often, through the night, I lifted my heart in 
prayer to God for us all. I felt that it was so cruel and 
hard in padrone Vincens and his partners to come 
and take me away from you and papa ! But, mother 
dear, Jesus has taught me that His disciples should 
pray for our enemies, that they may not be so wicked, 
and that we should do good to those who persecute us 
and despitefully use us.” 

^‘That’s a hard lesson to learn, my child,” said the 
mother, still quietly pursuing her toil. 

“ I know it does seem a hard lesson, dear mother,” 
Lorette replied, but Jesus, the Great Teacher, will not 
only help us to learn it, but He will show us how to 
carry it into practice. Ah! mother, don't you re- 
member I have read to you how much Jesqs suffered 
Himself? We ought never to forget that it is Jesus 
who says to us: 

^Let not your heart he troubled. Ye believe in God; 
believe, also, in Me. 


The Bereaved Home, 


45 


Hn my Father’s house are many mansions ; if it were 
not so I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for 
you. 

* And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come 
again, and receive you unto Myself : that where 1 am there 
ye may he also.’” 

The Christian child had learned these consoling 
words of St. John, so that she could repeat them by 
heart. How tenderly and sweetly she now recited 
them to her bowed-down and weeping mother ! 

Then she took hold of the work her mother was 
doing, and helped her all she could. She continued to 
speak softly, and move carefully, because she was afraid 
of disturbing her father; for she knew how hard he 
would have to toil in his gardens during the day. She 
knew, too, that her mother would continue similar toil 
at home ; but she thought that she could retire at inter- 
vals into her solitary bed-room, and there find a little 
rest. But, alas ! her loving spirit also knew that the 
mother’s heart would be aching, while the rest of 
her weary and worn body should be seeking repose. 

In a few moments the father came in. He, too, had 
been unable to sleep. His eyelids looked heavy. All 
around his dark eyes was a rim of scarlet, plainly show- 
ing how much they had been burning with scalding 
tears; while beneath them both his bronzed Italian 
complexion wore a still deeper rim of shadows, that 
told too well how often the whole of that fond and 
faithful father’s face had been throbbing with agony. 
He looked as if heavy blows had been struck beneath 
his eyes by a clinched hand. Alas ! the blows from 
which the poor man suffered were on his heart. But 
they were not the blows of the sledge-hammer on the 
anvil. Hard as they were, and as often repeated, they 


46 The Child- Hunters, 

but made the heart of the Italian florist all the more 
tender. 

That night of suffering had led that son of Italy 
nearer to his God. Ever and. anon, as the dark hours 
stole on past midnight toward the misty dawn, he 
joined with his wife in prayer for help from on high. 
The two mourning hearts prayed together, as they 
never prayed before. Without the intervention of 
counted beads, having no crucifix near them, as they 
knelt on the humble floor beside the lowly bed, no ma- 
donna picture before them, and no incense burning in 
the narrow room, they poured their whole souls in 
supplication to the Almighty Father. They prayed in 
child-like faith, nothing doubting, as the precious words 
of Jesus came into their memories : 

‘ But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and 
when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father who is in 
secret ; and thy Father, who seeth in secret, shall reward thee 
openly J 

So Giovanni and Angela Ferenza had prayed that 
night in Florence. So had the Heavenly Father re- 
warded them there. 

Both mother and daughter welcomed the father with 
surprise. He came in with a soft tread and a sad look. 

His story was the same as theirs — a sleepless night; 
silent watches of grief, broken only by sobs, sighs and 
the voice of secret prayer. 

Let me join in helping you,” said Mr. Ferenza, in a 
low tone of voice ; “ I see that neither one of you is 
able to do anything. I am far from strong myself, 
this morning ; but I have more strength than you both 
put together. There is a great trial before us — ” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Ferenza, laying down the article 
in her nervous hand, and dropping spasmodically into 


The Bereaved Home, 


47 


the nearest seat. “How can we bear it? I fear it will 
kill me; I am so weak and feeble already.” 

“Dear mother, don’t say so. Hear what the good 
God says to us. Here it is in my little Bible, that the 
lady from America gave me. Let me read it to you, 
from the Book of Psalms,” said Lorette. 

^ Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, 
even the Most High, thy habitation, 

* There shall no evil befall thee; neither shall any plague 
come nigh thy dwelling.^ 

“ Ah ! ” interrupted Mrs. Ferenza, in a paroxysm of 
grief she could not control, “/ am not afraid of the 
plague, or the pestilence, or any evil of that kind. I 
am afraid of that wicked padrone, coming to steal away 
my child!” 

The poor woman sobbed aloud, as if her heart would 
break. 

“ Oh 1 it is dreadful ! ” resumed Lorette, glancing her 
fine eyes, rapidly overflowing with tears, from father to 
mother, as she spoke. “ But, then, how comforting to 
us are the words that God speaks to us here in the rest 
of this Psalm : 

^ For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep 
thee in all thy ways.^ ” 

Sweet child I How beautiful it was to see her minis- 
tering such words of comfort to her father and mother, 
while her own young and tender heart was aching to its 
core 1 

She knew it w^as mainly on her own account that her 
loving parents were enduring all this great sorrow. 
She felt more for them than she did for hei’self. She 
had gone farther than they had in the faith of the ever- 
present Christ. While, therefore, as a dutiful child, she 
comforted her parents with words sent from Heaven, 


48 


The Child- Hunters, 


these other heavenly words came to her own soul, from 
the same Book of Psalms : 

‘ When my father and my mother forsake me, then the 
Lord will take me upJ 

True, her father and mother had not forsaken her. 
Far from it. They could and would never do that. 
But they were literally to be torn asunder ; and there 
was then no helper near. There was at that time no 
law on the statute-books of Italy or America to 
prevent this unchristian and inhuman separation of 
parents and children by the cruel system of padronism. 

The home of the Ferenzas was indeed a bereaved 
one. Alas ! how many more such homes are there in 
Italy to-day! 

Not alone in Florence; not alone in Naples; not 
alone in even once proud Rome; but all over the fair 
land of Italia, from the rivers to the plains, from the 
mountains to the sea, at this very moment there is 
going up to heaven the cry of hundreds and thousands 
of captive children : 

Save us, oh ! save us, from the bloody hands of the 
Italian padroni ! 



CHAPTEE V. 

BOUND TO AMERICA. 


He who nileth the raging of the sea, knoweth, also, how to 
check the designs of the ungodly. 

I submit myself, with reverence, to His holy will. O, Abner ! 
I fear my God ; and I fear none like Him. 

Racine. 

T he time had now come for Lucia and Lorette to 
bid farewell to their dear native Italy. The hunters 
had caught them in their toils, and were about to take 
them, bound captives, across the wide waste of waters. 

The poor children were all ready for the voyage. 
But ah ! how little did they know or think of what was 
before their young lives in that distant land ! 

Mrs. Garcia, as might well be expected, still con- 
tinued to treat the subject in all its bearings with 
characteristic flippancy. On one point alone was she 
deeply interested — the secure completion of the busi- 
ness arrangements, by which the earnings of the child 
should be secured to her, in their due proportion. She 
had frequent consultations with her fellow-hunters, the 
captain, the padrone, and the merchant. Nothing was 
left undone on her part, or theirs, to make the bondage 
of the children complete, and their hard earnings se- 
cure to their betrayers — excepting, of course, the spare 
little pittance that was to be doled out to the Ferenzas. 

Mrs. Ferenza, like Each el of old, refused to be com- 
forted. It seemed to her that, with all the specious 
5 D 49 


50 


The Child- Hunters, 


wiles of the captain, and all the promises of the mer- 
chant and the padrone, her child was lost. The journey 
of Lorette looked to her like that long one from which 
she would never return. With a heavy heart she set 
about the necessary preparations. It was but little she 
could do to finish the scanty wardrobe of the young 
traveller. 

When the time came for the vessel to set sail from 
the neighboring harbor of Leghorn, it was arranged 
that the two mothers should accompany the emigrants. 
The fathers and the rest of the families were to remain 
at home. 

It was a calm and beautiful day, such as is seldom 
seen elsewhere to so fine advantage as in Italy. Never 
did the soft Italian climate seem more lovely and invit- 
ing. The two girls were dressed in suitable travelling 
attire — Lucia bearing her pet tambourine, Lorette her 
favorite guitar. The former had given sundry extra 
touches to her wavy black curls. Her jaunty hat sat 
with more than usual style on her head, which she 
tossed to and fro with an air of careless indifference. 
The latter had added a few wreaths of floral taste to 
her neat apparel, and looked as sweet and charming as 
the morning. A neat blue cape, which her mother 
gave her at parting, hung on her lovely shoulders, and 
a bouquet of choice flowers, bestowed by her father, 
shed a soft fragrance all around her. 

The early train for Leghorn found the little party 
on the way to the ship. At Pisa they were joined by 
another company of similar juvenile emigrants, also 
bound to America — the whole being in close charge 
of padrone Vincens. Most of the children were boys, 
coming from the surrounding country. The bronzed 
faces of all of them showed that they had been accus- 


Bound to America, 


51 


tomed to toil in the open air. All of them were silent 
in the cars. An undefinable look of dread was in their 
eyes. Every gesture and motion betokened a fear of 
something in the future for which they had not been 
prepared. They were all going away from home, — not 
as regular emigrants, aware, beforehand, of the line 
and object of their voyage, — not as children in family 
groups, accompanied by their parents and guardians, — 
but as unwilling captives, bound in heavy fetters to a 
hard and thankless task. The whole crowd looked out 
of the car-windows with novel stares at the scenes they 
saw for the first time. Their Italian homes were be- 
hind them. Before them was the great unknown 
world. Beyond were the hills and valleys through 
which they had loved to roam. Beside them flowed 
the waters of the familiar Arno. In the distance, 
across the track, was the bay of Leghorn, where the 
pennons of the ships fluttered in the breeze that came 
up from the Mediterranean Sea. On one of these strange 
vessels they were all to embark for a distant land. All 
of them, without an exception, had their instruments 
of music, which they handled with a tenderness and 
care it was touching to behold. It was like a coffle 
of bond slave-children, hugging the chains that bound 
them. 

It was but a short ride from Pisa to Leghorn. The 
eyes of the whole company were soon transferred from 
the wonders of the tall, leaning tower that has rendered 
the former place so memorable, to the forests of masts, 
rigging and sails that loomed up from the quay of the 
latter. All was surprise and excitement; but they were 
the excitement and surprise of nervous anxiety rather 
than of pleasure. The tremulous question arose in 
their young hearts, though they feared to give that 


62 


The Child- Hunters. 


or any other expression on their childish lips — which 
of these queer-looking things will take us over the 
wide waters? Then came that other question — who 
will care for us on the voyage, since we must all leave 
fathers and mothers behind ? Who will watch over us 
in America ? 

All was doubt, all was uncertainty to this young 
Italian brood, thus hurried away from kindred and 
country. 

The tongue of land on which the city of Leghorn 
is situated runs far • down towards the sea beyond. 
How wide and deep and vast that water looked, as 
these little wanderers peered out over it ! The waves 
of the inner sea were the same that our Lord and His 
Apostles had traversed nearly two thousand years ago ; 
but these groups of young immortals knew but little 
of the glorious Kedeemer who died to save them. 
They saw the long modern walls of a large town ; the 
bustle of crowded streets; the lines of vessels at the 
quay and at anchor in the bay; and gazed up with 
wonder at the five strong gates of the city they had 
never seen before. On one side towered the grand 
cathedral, so recently begun ; on the other, the more 
modest churches of the Greeks; and scattered here 
and there the ornate synagogues of the Jews. 

The gigantic mole, or wharf, built to protect the com- 
merce of Leghorn, was a prodigious work in the eyes 
of these children. From the sides of this vast structure 
they were about to depart on their long voyage. 
Should they sail safely over the great, wide sea ? What 
kind of a country was that to which they were going? 
Who would receive them there? How long would they 
have to stay? Would they ever come back, or see their 
fathers and mothers again ? 


Bound to America. 


53 


Hunted, caught, imprisoned waifs ! How little did 
they know what was before them ! 

For more than two hundred years past just such 
groups of the children of Italy had been carried away 
from Leghorn. For more than two hundred years 
other innocent boys and girls had been stolen away 
from Italian homes, and borne off by Italian child- 
hunters, in this worse than African slave trade, into far 
worse than Egyptian bondage. 

Through all these by-gone centuries the offspring of 
other Italian parents had been the prey of child-traf- 
fickers to supply the human shambles of Vienna, Ber- 
lin, Paris, St. Petersburg and London. Now, for more 
than half a century this inhuman trade had been 
opened with the United States of America. Even men 
and women of Italian birth could and can be found so 
hard-hearted as to be ready and willing to carry it on 
for the sake of gain. 

Among all the questions that came into the minds of 
this cargo of young children, bound for America that 
day from Italy, there was one question they could not 
answer — When shall this infernal child-hunting come 
to an end ? 

Who shall answer this question, in the name of Italy 
and humanity ? 

On the quay at Leghorn, Vincens had led his fettered 
emigrants, like a flock of sheep hurried to the markets. 
Like a driver of cattle, the padrone moved among 
them wielding a whip, which, though invisible to mortal 
eyes, sank into the very souls of those helpless children. 
They were huddled together hastily and driven on 
board. Here the narrow deck received them; and, 
immediately after, their still narrower quarters in a 
part of the hold below. It was like a floating pen of 
5 * 


54 


The Child-Hunters, 


chattels ; a prison moving on the water crammed with 
fettered slaves. 

“ Let the brats take as little space as possible/^ mut- 
tered the child-merchant Marina to the padrone, as the 
two walked down together on the quay. ‘‘I want to 
get as many as I can in each vessel.” 

Trust me for that,” the padrone replied : “ I ’ll pack 
them as close as sardines in a box.” 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” chuckled the merchant. Sardines — 
yes ! That will do ! Sardines are very good, when well 
packed.” 

‘‘The closer the better,” rejoined Vincens. “And 
the stronger the pickle that holds them,” he coolly 
added. 

“By the way, Vincens,” interrupted Marina, “how 
are you off for another kind of liquor for your 
voyage? ” 

“ Oh !” quickly replied the padrone, “your signora 
has supplied me with a quantity of her choice selection. 
But as you know I have partners to treat on board ship, 
and will have more of the same thing to do when we 
land in America, I should be glad of other cases of the 
same sort.” 

“You would, padrone? ” 

“ Most certainly I would, signor.” 

“ But will you promise me, if I add to your supply, 
while the vessel is waiting in the stream, that you will 
not submit your cases too freely to the handling of 
captain del Paso, when he comes on board?” 

“ Yes, signor. I know well the habits of the hardy 
sailor ; and I promise you I will keep your most tempt- 
ing liquors out of his hands.” 

“ Noble captain ! ” cried the child-merchant, with a 
sneer. “But remember about the food allowance for 


Bound to America, 


55 


our brat-consigument. Not an ounce of meat, not a 
scale of fish, not a flake of bread, is to be wasted. 
Mark me, Vincens! not a solitary one. And as for 
clothing, — why, rags are good enough for such off- 
scourings as these.” 

“All right,” muttered the padrone, between his 
clinched teeth. “ I understand. Send down the cases 
of liquor by the last boat that comes from the quay to 
the ship. Our ^ noble captain,’ as you call him, will 
return ashore by that time to get his papers from the 
custom-house.” 

“ Good ! ” ejaculated the merchant. The two men 
parted at the gangway of the ship. 

The parents of Lucia and Lorette had made such 
scanty provision as was in their power for the vo^^age 
of their children. They were few, indeed, and very 
poor at that. The vessel was to be crowded with emi- 
grants ; and what could their two little girls do among 
so many ? 

Their clothes were just narrowly trimmed. Cheap 
ornaments were supplied for their wrists, their bosoms, 
necks and throats. A small supply of beads and cruci- 
fixes was mixed in with the clothing bundles. But 
there was not a Bible among them all. 

Lorette still retained the copy of the New Testament, 
printed in Italian, her American gift, which she had 
already learned to read and love so well. 

Such was the outfit of these young musical emi- 
grants, for their far-away field in America. Thus were 
they equipped in Italy for their future toilsome roam- 
ings through the streets, alleys and grounds of distant 
American cities and villages. It was in such garbs, 
and after such trainings, these two little unknowns 
were to thread their devious walks in the future, — to 


56 


The Child- Ilunters. 


play their Italian music, and sing their Italian songs, 
to wander, suffer, sicken and die. 

And for what ? To pick up scattered pittances from 
the hands of strangers, thrown from strange windows 
and doors to the pavements and gutters. 

And for whom ? For the greedy child-hunters of 
Italy and America. 

What wonder that such children should be often led 
astray ? What else could be expected than that their un- 
practised feet should get entangled in the thick briars 
of their narrow and crooked paths ? Is it strange that 
such unprotected waifs’ should be deceived and be- 
trayed by the artful and designing ? 

They come to America from their ignorant and su- 
perstitious homes in Europe. They land in the midst 
of a jostling crowd. Strange faces greet their eyes. 
Strange sounds fall on their ears. They know not 
what to think of our dress ; they know not how to con- 
form to our customs. What temptations are they under 
to learn, first, the language of wickedness? Among 
such mobs of the dissolute and the vile, what danger 
is there that these weak wanderers to our shores 
should be tramped under foot ! 

In this surging mass of wayward humanity were now 
Lucia and Lorette. They were yet tossed to and fro 
in Italy, ere they had set sail for America. The moth- 
ers of the children had accompanied them to Leghorn. 
Mrs. Garcia soon turned away from Lucia, on a frivo- 
lous pretence; but the mother of Lorette went with 
her dear child on board the ship. Here they clung to 
each other, like the parent tree and the entwining 
vine. The mother readjusted the apparel of her child 
ever and anon. She took off and put on her Tuscan 
hat repeatedly; she twined her fingers in the glossy 


Bound to America. 


57 


curls that hung around the neck ; and kissed the soft 
and ruby lips that were so often and so readily pre- 
sented to her own. When their cheeks met. each other, 
their tears mingled in kindred currents upon them; 
and the parting sighs of the parent blended with re- 
sponsive sighs of the child. The parting hour had 
come ; and oh ! how full of sadness ! 

Mrs. Garcia, after a secret interview with the captain 
del Paso, who was in an apartment adjoining the rear 
office in the store of signor Marina, receiving visits 
from nearly all the emigrants in private, came tripping 
down among the noisiest of the crowd. She was dressed 
in her gayest attire, and her aim had been that Lucia 
should rival her in gayety. She bustled around among 
the emigrants and the friends who had come to see them 
off, attracting constant attention by her bold and dash- 
ing manner. She made herself familiar, at once, with 
the officers and crew of the ship ; and her thoughtless 
laugh rang out among the wild men and giddy women 
and children on the pier. 

Then followed a long and confidential interview be- 
tween Mrs. Garcia and padrone Vincens. Further and 
most minute particulars of their bargain for Lucia 
were reconsidered and rearranged. Every item of 
the child- traffic was settled in the most business-like 
style. The child had been caught in the net, held in 
the hands of the parent, on one side, and of the pa- 
drone, on the other. It was a profitable bargain and 
sale to both parties. What mattered it if the child- 
victim fluttered in the net? It was strong enough to 
carry her across the ocean, to hold her in its toils in 
America! Would it bring her back again to Italy? 
That remains for us to see. 

Mrs. Ferenza still clung to Lorette. She folded her 


58 


The Child- Hunters, 


maternal arms lovingly around the slender waist of her 
child, who, in return, leaned equally lovingly on the 
gentle bosom where she had nestled when a helpless 
little babe. Soft, and tender and tearful were the 
simple instructions that fell from the warm lips of 
that Italian mother into the listening ears of that 
Italian child. 

Lucia held in her hand her well-worn American 
tract. The light of the Bay of Leghorn fell on its 
humble pages, and revealed, in the Italian language, 

this title . Come to Jesus.” 


It was one of many similar tracts circulated in Italy 
and adjacent countries by good Christian people in 
America and England. It contained only four small 
pages. Its frontispiece was a picture of our Saviour 
hanging on the cross. It was the same old, old story 
of Jesus and His love. In clear, full, plain words, it 
told all about Jesus. It closed with a sweet and earn- 
est invitation to the reader, in every part of the world 
where the Italian language is known and read, whether 
on the land or on the water, to come to Jesus and be 
made happy. It pointed to His bleeding side for the 
fountain of salvation; and to His outstretched arms, 
spread upon the cross so wide as to embrace the world. 
This was the motto of the little tract : 

^By grace are ye saved, through faith; and that not of 
yourselves ; it is the gift of God.* 

Its only theme was the salvation of man by the cross 
of Christ. ‘ God so loved the world* it said, ‘He gave His 
only begotten Son ; that whosoever believeih on Him might 
not perish, hut have eternal life.* 

“Oh, sinner !” continued this brief messenger, with 
an Italian tongue, “ take the loving Jesus at His true 


Bound to America, 


59 


and unchanging word. Come to Jesus ; and thou shalt 
be saved. Even though thou art the chief of sinners, 
Jesus can and will save thee, and He alone.’^ 

“None but Jesus, none but Jesus, 

Can do helpless sinners good.^^ 

“ One there is, above all others. 

Well deserves the name of friend; 

His is love beyond a brother’s, 

Precious, free, and knows no end.” 

Then immediately followed the inviting words of 
Christ Himself : 

‘ Whosoever comeih unto me, I will in no wise cast out.^ 

All these, and many other kindred and saving truths 
of the gospel, had been printed for this poor Italian 
W’oman in the land that her countryman had discovered 
ages ago. They had come to her from that land like 
the gospel, without money and without price. How 
sweetly did those truths of that gospel sound to that 
child of Italy, in a spot only a few short miles from 
where the manger, and the cross and the sepulchre 
had once stood ! 

That poor woman, sick and wayworn, ignorant and 
superstitious as she was, received that humble messen- 
ger through her dear child. She read the message. It 
reached her heart. She believed. She came to Jesus. 
She was saved. 

In less than an hour after this parting scene closed, 
the vessel bearing the two children and their associates 
was on its way to America. With the colors of Italy 
flying at the main-topmast truck, and those of the 
United States of America at the fore, she steered gal- 
lantly down Leghorn Bay, and far out toward the 
sea. 


60 


The Child- Hunters, 


Mrs. Garcia, who had been standing by the side of 
Mrs. Ferenza on the quay, was now accosted by a 
private messenger from the business office of the mer- 
chant Marina, which stood near the shore of the har- 
bor. A secret message was whispered in her ear. She 
started a moment with surprise, and then answered the 
messenger by an expressive nod. Immediately after 
she passed up the quay. By a sign from Marina, given 
at his office window, she continued her journey to the 
eastern porch of the grand Duomo cathedral — being 
built somewhat in imitation of that at Florence. In 
this porch she met another secret child-hunter, who 
had been watching, unobserved, the departure of the 
ship for America. In the dark shadows of the cathe- 
dral the man and woman talked confidentially together, 
and then both disappeared out of sight. 

Mrs. Ferenza, wrapped in silent thought, still lingered 
on the extreme end of the quay. She had placed her- 
self on a coil of chain cables, near a large stone pillar, 
that she might keep the outward-bound ship in sight as 
long as possible. The winds, also outward-bound, blew 
their blasts above and around her; but she heeded them 
not. The waves that bore her only child away rippled 
back with the flood tide, and mournfully dashed on the 
rocks at her feet ; but their sound fell not on her ears. 
Her weak body was leaning tremulously on the rude 
stone post around which the chains were coiled that 
held the ships to the quay ; but her aching heart was 
on the waters, floating out to sea. 

How fast the sails and masts sank below the horizon! 
How soon the hull of the ship was out of sight! Still, 
as she looked so fondly and so earnestly, that sorrow- 
ing mother saw but one form in all the crowd on deck. 
Her eye fell on but one little girl, holding on the main 


Bound to America. 


61 


shrouds. She heard not one note of the sweet farewells 
that came to her from that distant bark; but she knew 
it was her own Lorette by the gentle waving of the 
childish hand, and the fluttering of the Florentine scarf 
on the sea air. Lorette, like her mother, was standing 
alone, and apart from all the rest. Silently and sadly 
the mother waved back an adieu to her daughter, and 
turned to walk slowly and feebly up the quay. The 
top of the cold pillar on which she had leaned was 
thickly wet with a mother’s tears. 

6 



CHAPTER VI. 

ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


The lamb, thy riot dooms to death, to-day, 

Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? 

Pleased, to the last, he crops the flowery food, 

And licks the hand just raised to spill his blood. 

Anon, 

T he passage from Leghorn to New York was slow 
and tedious. The bark was a very dull sailer. She 
had been usually employed in transporting from Italy 
to America, in company with lots of emigrants, such 
cargoes of Mediterranean products as were not perish- 
able. The captain was a part owner, with the child- 
merchant Marina, of both vessel and cargo ; and know- 
ing that everything on account of the transportation 
of passengers had been arranged on the starvation prin- 
ciple, while he himself was supplied with provisions 
and luxuries in plenty, he whiled away his time at his 
leisure. He sported at his own sweet will with the 
oldest of the girls who were imprisoned on shipboard, 
and kept completely in his power; compelling all the 
children to minister to his native love for fancy music. 

The villain knew, by long experience, the secret pur- 
poses of his partner-owner and associates. What his 
passengers lacked in provisions, he was to make up by 
confinement and extortion. As soon as possible all on 
board but himself were put on short allowance. Hun- 

62 


Arrival in New York, 


63 


ger and thirst were the first instalments of ocean suffer- 
ing to our poor Italian children. 

The padrone Vincens was now in supreme command 
of all the stolen company in his power. He immedi- 
ately began to take every opportunity to show to them 
all how entirely he was their master. He made them 
come and go everywhere at his bidding. They were 
not allowed to have any free will of their own — not 
even to converse or play with one another, however 
privately, without his sovereign permission. 

On all occasions they were commanded to call him 

Master Vincens.” They were everywhere and in 
everything to own him as such. He at once made 
them feel that they no longer belonged to themselves, 
or to their parents ; that they were his goods and chat- 
tels, to all intents and purposes ; purchased and paid 
for, at so much a head. 

Lucia and Lorette were crowded, with the rest, into 
the dirty steerage. The floor was thickly covered with 
long accumulated filth. There were no chairs, or even 
stools, for sitting down to rest; every available inch 
of room being crowded full of cargo, or with the bags 
and chests in which had been crammed promiscuously 
the miserable duds of clothing worn by the boys and 
girls. The narrow bunks were built up like cattle-pens 
against the sides of the vessel, with no other bedding 
in them but knotty piles of dirty straw and heaps of 
foul manilla hemp, that had been clotted together, and 
packed down in hard lumps, by the emigrants of many 
voyages — a mass of stinking corruption that was never 
subjected to the strange ordeal of being changed or 
cleansed, or even turned over and shaken up. These 
were all the beds that Lucia and Lorette were permitted 
to lie in together. They had no choice for places of 


64 


The Child- Hunters, 


repose but these half-putrid holes, or the still more 
putrid floor. 

Some of these outcasts were even younger and more 
wretched than Lucia and Lorette. The little boys, 
especially, fared hard at the hands of the brutal Vin- 
cens. One boy, who was now almost sixteen, was held 
in peculiarly cruel bondage by the padrone. He was 
a lad of keen Italian wit; of much acquired intelli- 
gence. Vincens, therefore, watched him all the more 
closely, lest he might obtain influence over the other 
captives, and come to let them know something of their 
plundered rights. 

One point was ever kept in view. On leaving Leg- 
horn, the minds of all the children were deeply im- 
pressed with the idea that at no time, under no circum- 
stances, w^ere they to omit the superstitious rites by 
which they were bound. Not a crucifix should be left 
neglected; not a bead uncounted. Under penalty of 
losing the salvation of their souls, they were to pray for 
obedience to the padrone in all things. 

This cunning scheme was to keep the poor helpless 
victims in still more abject subjection. It was by this 
slavish measure the children were made to feel that 
all their earnings in America did not and would not 
belong to themselves, or even to their parents, but to 
the padrone. What he did with their money, after it 
once came into his possession, they were never to know. 
They were all utterly terrified into complete submission. 
Their sickness, their nakedness, their hunger and thirst 
were as nothing, in comparison with their surrender of 
all they had, all they might hereafter have, to the con- 
trol of the tyrant Vincens. 

Such was the tyranny of these child-hunters. Such 
was the bondage of these hopeless children of Italy. 


Arrival in New York, 


65 


All the long voyage through, Vincens kept continu- 
ally impressing on the pliant minds of his captives the 
lesson of his supreme power and of their implicit obedi- 
ence. He was particularly careful in his severity with 
Lucia and Lorette. These two gifted dupes were held 
to be unusually valuable. Their talents for street per- 
formances were considered remarkable. Hence, there 
was money in them; and money was the one thing 
needful, and most to be cared for. Their pretty faces 
and agile motions, their sweet voices and rare ac- 
companiments, were marketable commodities of great 
value, and should command the highest market prices. 
All these rich earnings, by his adroit management, 
were sure to go into his capacious and avaricious 
pockets. He had not hunted in vain in Italy for such 
choice game. 

“ See here,’’ said the padrone, one day, on the great 
ocean, as he called Lucia and Lorette to his side. The 
little girls felt, in the solitude of the sea that hemmed 
them all around, how completely they were in his 
power. They mechanically sat down on the top of the 
black and begrimed chest on which Vincens was sitting, 
folded their trembling hands, bent their eyes submis- 
sively on the greasy planks below, and listened. 

“ See here, I say,” continued Vincens. “ Do you brats 
know that you both belong to me? ” 

The two children looked up at him simultaneously, 
as if neither of them understood what he meant. 

‘‘ Oh ! you need n’t stare at me, that way. I ’ll make 
you understand what I mean fast enough. I say, do 
you brats both know that you are now my property ? 
that I own you, body and soul ? that you must always 
go and come just when I tell you ? that all you earn, 
every penny of it, belongs wholly to me? If you 
6* E 


66 


The Child- Hunters, 


have n’t learned that fact, you ’d better begin to learn 
it, right away. Understand, eh?” 

The children still looked surprised and terrified. 

“ You don’t understand ? Well, then, all I have to do 
is to beat it into you. Yes, I ’ll rap it into your dull 
little noddles. You two young brats, Lucia Garcia and 
Lorette Ferenza, are now my children! You don’t 
belong to yourselves, I told you ; nor to your parents 
away back there in Florence; nor to anybody else. 
Henceforth, as we land in America, you belong to me ! 
And I shall do what I will with my oivn I Understand 
now? Eh?” 

Our poor waifs were silent. They sat dumb-founded 
in that dark and dank steerage, trembling all over from 
head to foot. 

A dim light struggled down the narrow companion- 
way overhead. The children both looked up toward 
the lowering sea-sky, and on the rifted clouds that 
swept across the heaving waves, as if they would find 
some way of escape. But, alas 1 there was no escape 
for them. Their captivity was complete. No power 
on earth could then break their cruel bonds. 

All at once, the padrone seemed to swell in their 
young eyes into the dimensions of a huge' monster. 
He looked to them as if his hands had changed to the 
hairy claws of a lion, and his mouth appeared to open 
so wide that it would swallow them up. They shud- 
dered, shrank aw'ay from his side, and began to cry 
most piteously. 

Vincens looked at them with a sly and sullen leer. 
He saw, at a glance, that his vile purpose was already 
accomplished. With an ill-concealed chuckle, the vil- 
lain rose up and went on deck. 

The two little girls were utterly overcome. They 


Arrival in New York, 


67 


knew not what to do. Silence and weeping seemed 
their only relief, as they leaned back against their 
narrow and gloomy bunks and were rocked in their 
sadness by the wild sea waves. 

At length Lorette thought of her American tract, 
which she had always continued to carry in her bosom. 
With a soft sigh of relief she drew it forth, and by the 
light of the steerage gangway she read aloud to herself 
and her companion the sweet injunction of the dear 
Christ : 

‘ Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them 
not ; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.'^ 

Lucia and Lorette had never yet wholly learned the 
full meaning of these blessed words of the immaculate 
Son of God. They had not then understood that, like 
all the other words of Jesus, they were intended not 
alone for the children of Judea, for the Hebrew and 
Gentile families that surrounded Him when He was on 
earth, but for all parents and all children on the face 
of the whole earth. 

These little Florentine girls had not been brought up 
in the true nurture and admonition of the Lord. They 
had not yet seen or heard Christ, as He is revealed 
directly to all, with the eye and ear of Christian faith. 
They had not understood how all His exceeding great 
and precious promises were intended to come directly 
to just such children as they were themselves. They 
had groped after Christ through the darkened mists of 
superstition; but they could not find Him, except in 
His own appointed way. 

But now, on board this old Italian emigrant ship, 
drawing near the land more than three thousand miles 
away from home, sitting in the faint light that streamed 
down from heaven in the dark steerage upon them, 


68 


The Child- Hurders. 


their young eyes and ears were opened, and their 
young hearts were touched as they had never yet been. 
Side by side they knelt down by the iron-bound and 
battered chest, and together they sent up to God the 
prayer — 

‘ Our Father who art in Heaven J 

Who can doubt that their Heavenly Father heard 
that prayer? Who can doubt that He will always and 
everywhere hear and answer the prayer that all believ- 
ing children offer to Him ? 

In a few days more the vessel was steering lip the 
Naples-like bay of New York. Stopping the appointed 
time at quarantine, she passed on to her landing place 
at Castle Garden — the great depot for sea-emigrants 
from all quarters of the world. 

Here padrone Vincens became more busy than ever. 
He had led his victims safely across the ocean. He 
was now ready to offer them for sacrifice and for filthy 
lucre on the altars of Mammon in America. 

The whole group of passengers huddled like so many 
sheep, hurried from one pen to another. Each child, 
girls as well as boys, carried a bundle from the ship to 
the depot. These bundles contained their little all of 
clothing and memorials of their Italian homes. It was 
a very small bundle that each one was allowed to possess. 
Even that was to be taken away from them by the 
padrone, and kept in his own possession, after their 
depot examination should be passed. It was but pre- 
cious little additional clothing those wandering tribes of 
Italy would ever have. All the money they could earn 
on these strange shores was to go into the grasping 
hands of the padrone, to be divided by him, at his own 
option, with the wicked merchant Marina, and still 
more wicked captain del Paso, who enslaved them in 
the far-off city of Florence. 


Arrival in New Yorh. 


69 


This bad man, Vincens, began his career with these 
Italian children in America by telling them lies. He 
robbed them of their clothes, poor as they were, and of 
their hard-earned money, too. The child-hunter made 
the most of his game. 

Vincens had been in New York before. He knew 
the city well. A part of his time had been spent there 
as the secret agent of a band of Italian robbers — belong- 
ing to sworn leagues of the child-hunters of Europe. 
The details of this system of robbery had been arranged 
for a long time. It was in constant operation both in 
Europe and America. 

The padrone perfectly understood all its intricate and 
hidden workings. His associates were in almost every 
walk of life; and in some cases included persons in 
authority, and pursuing lawful callings, who were little 
suspected. 

One of these kindred villains made his temporary 
home in New York. He moved on in his infernal 
mission unobserved ; gathering his blood-stained gains 
in secret, and hoarding them here, that he might return 
to spend them with more freedom and more luxury 
among his kindred spirits in the old world. 

This man’s name was Gambrina — Bruta Gambrina. 
He was a few years younger than Vincens, but many 
years older in wickedness. He was at the landing of 
the Italian ship at Castle Garden, by appointment, to 
meet Vincens with his expected company of child- 
captives. 

The meeting between the two was such as successful 
villains always give one another — hearty, cordial and 
boisterous. They stood together closely at the gate. 
Gambrina’s black eyes swept lustfully and victoriously 
over the motley crowd that gathered around. Then 


70 


The Child- Hu7iters. 


slapping Vincens violently on the shoulder, he cried to 
him, in exulting tones : 

‘^Well done, Marco! Gloriously well done, my old 
boy I ’’ 

Vincens returned a look in which pleasure was toned 
down by caution, as he stolidly acknowledged the com- 
pliment. 

The children had now been crowded into a mass 
behind a barricade of boxes and sacks. Here they 
hustled and jostled one another, until the two padroni 
pushed and drove them, like a frightened flock, into a 
dark and dingy corner of the old Castle. Here they 
w^ere lodged under a temporary cover, not one of them 
daring to speak a word above a whisper. 

Every one who had not seen him before was at once 
struck with the appearance of Gambrina. His face and 
form were even more forbidding than those of Vincens. 
His complexion was of the deepest sallow. His eyes 
were black as the blackest jet, and sank far deep in 
their cavernous sockets. His nose w^as large and coarse 
in its formation ; and the mouth beneath pushed out 
from its dark mustache two large front teeth, like the 
short projecting tusks of a boar on the Tuscan moun- 
tains. Around both his large, glaring eyes, like the coil 
of a slimy black snake, were deep lines of discoloration, 
which beat and throbbed perceptibly, as the hot blood 
in the veins beneath the bronzed skin flooded or re- 
ceded to and fro. A long, stiff, wiry mustache pro- 
truded over his distended mouth, the lower part of 
which drooped far down, as if to hide his boar-like 
tusks. The extreme ends of his mustache, wiry with 
wax, were twisted so hard that they looked like the 
twin fangs of an adder, ever ready to sting all who 
approached too near. 


Arrival in New Yorh. 


71 


Gambrina was, indeed, a frightful creature — espe- 
cially to stranger children. They all shrank from him 
as they would from a demon. Real innocence is ever 
conscious of the presence of guilt. 

Yancens lost no time in telling his brood of poor little 
dupes that they would all be placed in the special 
charge of Gambrina. They were to follow him eveiy- 
where ; to give heed slavishly to all he did and said ; 
and to report to him submissively every day every 
penny they had earned. 

The helpless waifs had slunk away to their corner 
barricade, and huddled down together on the thickly- 
clotted floor of Castle Garden. Here they lay shiver- 
ing, while the two padroni marched triumphantly 
along the area in front, or paused only to laugh and 
chat with one another as they feasted on the rare viands 
and quaffed the choice liquors they had brought with 
them. 

What a contrast to these deserted children with their 
distant homes in Italy ! These homes could not boast 
of much elegance, or many luxuries. But they were 
real homes of little children, nevertheless. They had 
their cheerful thresholds, their genial hearth-stones, 
their lowly family altars. How strange and sad the 
difierence in the foul purlieus, and jostling, profane 
crowds of Castle Garden ! 

Their voyage across the ocean had been one of ab- 
ject suffering. They had no quiet, no rest, no health- 
ful food, through all its weary days and nights. Marina 
had wickedly conspired with the captain of the bark 
and Vincens, as we have already seen, to subject the 
emigrants in their power to every possible privation. 
Money must be coined out of them, even though it 
should come, drop by drop, from their hearts’ blood. 


72 


The Child- Hunters, 


Bleeding Italy was thus to be made to pamper the lust 
and fashion of the heartless oppressors of mankind. 

So, on what is called a Christian shore, while these 
human vultures fed on luxuries of the richest kind, 
their enslaved victims laid at their feet, half-naked and 
starving. All they did for the children was to toss 
them over their ramparts of bales and packages a few 
broken crumbs of mouldy bread. Even the cup of 
cold water was denied them. 

It was far in the dusk of the evening when the con- 
federate padroni hurried their fettered gang from the 
shadows of Castle Garden to those of the streets of 
New York. Silently and impassively the melancholy 
procession moved on toward the main gate leading to 
the Battery. 

At this place there is a low, narrow bridge, that was 
formerly used as a portcullis in time of war. Over- 
hanging this bridge was a narrow gallery, protruding out 
from the upper ramparts of Castle Garden. In this re- 
tired gallery, immediately over the great gateway, it 
was once the custom for sentries to be stationed, to 
command an outlook of all who entered or retired 
from the old fortress. The passage under this gallery 
was dark and intricate. The children entered it with a 
feeling of dread, and momentarily hesitated to proceed. 
But the stern voice of Gambrina cried out, “ Move on ! ” 
Not one of them dared to disobey those cold, l^irsh 
tones. Vincens led the mournful column ; Gambrina 
brought up the rear. 

Just as the last child was passing from under the 
shadow of the porch, and while both the padroni 
turned back to be sure that all their prey was in their 
hands, a deep, solemn voice from the gallery spoke 
aloud : 


Arrival in New York, 


73 


Marco Vincens ! ” 

The padrone stopped as if he had been struck by a 
rifle-ball. No one was in sight; and he looked around 
rapidly and nervously to see whence the sound pro- 
ceeded. All was now silent. But the padrone still 
paused, and listened, like one transfixed to the spot. 
It was evident that he knew the voice, and was startled 
b}^ it. The voice continued : 

I am watching you ; beware ! Remember your oath 
at Florence! ” 

The padrone turned back a little further, as if about 
to make a reply, when a policeman near by, who had 
been keeping guard at the ojjen gateway of the Castle, 
sternly cried : 

“ Pass on 1 Pass on ! 

Vincens instantly turned from the bridge, and ran 
up the Battery to overtake Gambrina and the children. 

Whose was that mysterious voice? What did it 
mean ? 

We shall learn as we go on with our story. 

7 





CHAPTER VII. 

BACK TO ITALY. 


Wolves shall succeed for teachers; grievous wolves, 
Who all the sacred mysteries of Heaven 
To their own vile advantages shall turn, 

Of lucre and ambition ; and the truth 
With superstition’s sham tradition taint. 

Milton, 

M rs. GARCIA had sped rapidly to her interview with 
her secret confederate at Leghorn. There we leave 

her. 

Mrs. Ferenza walked slowly and sadly up the Leg- 
horn quay. 

How many lingering looks did she cast on that distant 
horizon ! She wished in vain for one more glance at the 
receding ship. Alas ! it was now wholly out of sight — 
gone to the far-away America, with her darling child 
on board. 

She now travelled back alone, as fast as the returning 
train would carry her, to her bereaved room in the old 
Mansion di Lapo. Her husband, who had been anxiously 
and tenderly waiting for her, greeted her at the antique 
archway with a loving kiss. But both were for a long 
tirSe in silent sadness. Their only words were in the 
warm tears that coursed down their cheeks. 

Lorette, dear, sweet, gifted Lorette, was gone! — gone, 
perhaps, never to return. She was a delicate and slen- 

7t 


BacT^ to Italy, 


75 


der child. How would she endure the privations of 
the long voyage? Who would care for her, now father 
and mother were left behind? 

Then there came to the memory of Mrs. Ferenza the 
blessed words she had heard Lorette read to them — 
the promise of the ever-living, ever-present God : 

^The Lord thy God it is that doth go before thee. He will 
he with thee. He ivill not forsake thee, nor fail thee. Fear 
not, neither be dismayed.^ 

The thick mists of superstition were slowly passing 
from the minds of these unsophisticated people. They 
were beginning, practically, to understand the real dif- 
ference between a religion of forms and ceremonies 
and shams, and that ^jpure religion and undefiled, before 
God and the Father,'' which is so infallibly taught in the 
Holy Bible. They could now see, as they had never 
before seen, the saving meaning of the words the absent 
Lorette used to sing to them and herself in sweet Italian 
music : 

There is a fountain, filled with blood. 

Drawn from ImmanuePs veins ; 

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, 

Lose all their guilty stains. 

The balm of the precious promises of the sympathiz- 
ing Redeemer was quietly entering their wounded souls. 
Ah ! it was to them the healing balm of Gilead, and 
the dear Christ they now earnestly sought was indeed 
the Good Physician there. 

‘ Through a glass, darkly ’ they had looked on the 
cross, from their youths up. Now they began to see 
Him, who for them had hung and died upon it, face to 
fiice. Although, like St. Paul, they had been taught 
their faith in the strictest sect of the Pharisees, they 
knew but little indeed of the meek and lowly Jesus. 


76 


The Child- Hunters, 


Kindly and lovingly the Great Teacher was now com- 
ing to them, by His own Spirit and word, that they 
might he truly taught of Him. 

Thus they sat in their own retired room on the banks 
of the Arno. The cross of Christ once stood but a 
little way off from the waters of that beautiful river. 
They were constantly seeing the pictures of that cross 
on the walls of the churches where they worshipped. 
Its form stood by the wayside, and in many a niche, 
where they travelled. Lonely, desolate, bereaved of 
their only child, gilded pictures and sculptured cruci- 
fixes gave of themselves no instruction to their anxious 
minds — no consolation to their aching hearts. 

But the soft, heavenly light of the promise of Christ 
began to dawn through the cold vapors that had so 
long surrounded them : 

^ Lo ! I am with you alway, even unto the end of the 
world, 

^ Come unto Me, all ye that labor, and are heavy laden, 
and I ivill give you rest. 

* Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me ; for I am 
meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest to your 
souls. 

^ For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light. ^ 

It was the voice of Jesus. It seemed to them as if 
they had never heard it until now. 

Ah ! how different from this teachable spirit of the 
Ferenzas was that of the Garcias! Mrs. Garcia had 
tarried with the wines and viands of the wily Marina’s 
house until far into the night. But the husband and 
children were used to such freaks on her part; so that 
when she came staggering into her flashy home, it was 
not surprising that she should find both father and 
son sitting by a table of eatables and drinkables that 


Bach to Italy. 


77 


stood leaning against the partition wall, quaffing freely 
and boisterously of the intoxicating bowl. 

It was near the break of day, and just as the cathe- 
dral bell was beginning to ring for early mass, Mrs. 
Garcia saw, at a hurried and angry glance at the empty 
bottles before them, how deeply the two men had been 
drinking. But she could not, nay, even dared not, re- 
proach them, for she had been spending the night in 
doing the same wicked and foolish thing — and, besides, 
all of them were excited by the fiery liquor. So, mut- 
tering between her clinched teeth a vindictive curse, 
she threw herself, with all her journeying dress still on, 
upon the only sofa in the room, and was soon lost in a 
drunken slumber. 

As the broad light streamed in through the arched 
and painted window, and the noise of the streets had 
risen loudly, Mr. Garcia rose languidly from the floor 
where he had fallen beside his son. Looking lazily and 
stupidly around the dusty and cluttered room, for the 
first time he appeared to notice his wife. 

“ Ho ! Marguerite ! Say ! Is she gone ? 

“To be sure she has,” muttered the woman, in a sup- 
pressed tone, as if mad at being disturbed in her morn- 
ing nap. 

“ Did you see her off? ” he again inquired. 

“ Yes, I tell you! ” she replied, sharply. “ We all saw 
them off.” 

” said Garcia. “ Who do you mean by all? ” 

“ Why the rest of us, to be sure ! ” she answered, pet- 
tishly. “ What is that to you ? She ’s gone all right, 
and that’s enough.” 

“Enough, is it?” he added with a low sneer, that 
sounded like a venomous hiss. “And pray. Mistress 
Marguerite Garcia, will you be so very kind as to in- 
7 * 


78 


The Child- Hunters, 


form me where you have been since then? Surely, 
you have not spent all this time at the branch office of 
Marina, at Leghorn — the child-thief! ’’ 

Signor Marina is a gentleman, Garcia I and that is 
more than I can say of you!’^ cried the woman, now 
fiercely springing from the lounge, like a tigress from 
its lair. “ What have you to say against him, sirrah 1 ” 
she exclaimed, raising her loud voice, until it could be 
heard above the rattle of the carriages and carts on the 
pavement. “What business is it to t/oit where /have 
been? Who made you my master, fellow? I ’ll let you 
know that I ’ll come and go just when and where I 
please ! ” 

“You will, will you?” shouted Garcia, moving to- 
Avard the table, and taking from it one of the knives 
that he had been using. 

“ Lay down that knife 1 ” the woman yelled, in a 
louder voice than his. “ Lay it down, instantly, or 
you don’t leave this room alive 1 ” 

She was noAV like a fiend in the opening frenzy of the 
mania of drink. With her right hand she tore open 
the bosom of her Italian jacket, disclosing the silver 
handle of a glistening stiletto. 

“This little ornament,” she continued, her voice 
becoming hoarser and more defiant, “ is worth two of 
that old table-knife. This is as strong as steel and as 
sharp as a razor! That, to my certain knowledge, is 
only old iron, and blunt at that ! ” 

She now threw herself into a fighting attitude, and 
fiercely screamed : 

“ Come on, you villain ! Come on, if you dare! I ’ll 
answer your impertinent inquiries at the point of this 
dagger! ” 

Garcia lifted his arm, Avdth the knife closely held in 


Bach to Italy. 


79 


his right hand, and was about springing forward to 
attack his wife, when the son, now roused from his 
drunken stupor where he had lain on the floor, rushed 
in between and kept them apart. 

All the brute nature of the bandit was roused on one 
side; all that of the corsair on the other. Had not the 
now frightened and sobered son so opportunely inter- 
fered, a bloody fight would have ensued, and murder 
closed the scene. 

“ Put up your dagger, and get me my breakfast ! ” 
doggedly returned the man. “It is well the boy kept 
me from getting at you ! Before I had got through I ’d 
have cut you into inch pieces ! ” 

With a besotted grunt, as if it were the only reply she 
deigned to make to this threat, the woman fell back 
again on the lounge, incoherently muttering : 

“ O ! I ’ve heard such brag as that often before ! Now, 
go to work and get your own breakfast ! 

Garcia made no reply ; but, suddenly turning to his 
son, he grumbled, in a low, sullen key : 

“Boy! let^s take a drink over that! Such Tuscan 
courage is worthy of such a wife as mine — such a 
mother as yours! Fill your glass from that half-empty 
bottle, and pass the rest to me ! The rest that ’s left 
will be just enough for my morning dram ! It ’ll be a 
keen appetizer for that breakfast I am ordered to get ! ” 

Rulers and people of Italy! — land of the prophets, 
apostles, scholars and patriots of old ! — is it any wonder 
there are child-hunters among you ? 



CHAPTER VIII. 

DEN OF THE PADRONI IN AMERICA. 


Darkness above, despair beneath, 

Around it flame, within it death. 

A7^on. 

T he padrone den in New York, like Gambrina, who 
hired and fitted it up, was a frightful thing. It was 
located in the east central part of the city. The street 
on which it stood was narrow, crooked and filthy, and 
inhabited almost entirely by the lowest class of foreign 
emigrants. Many of the houses were low, wooden, 
tumble-down affairs, miserable even for the dwelling- 
places of pigs and goats, which were numerous among 
them. 

To this dismal den the flocks of children were driven 
along, through the darkest, dirtiest and most unfre- 
quented streets and alleys. The little frightened crea- 
tures were not allowed to stop for one moment on the 
way, not even to gratify their childish curiosity with 
the strange sights that greeted them on the side-walks 
and in the stores of the thoroughfares. 

“ No stopping there ! Hurry along ! ” cried Gambrina, 
as he imperiously led the way. In his hand he carried 
a long, pliable rattan ; and if any poor little straggler 
chanced to lag behind, weary and footsore, a clip over 
the head and shoulders, or across the face, was a 
reminder that such indulgences were not to be allowed. 

80 


Den of the Padroni in America, 81 

The drove of human cattle was to be whipped into 
obedience. 

Here was the future home in America into which 
Lucia and Lorette were thus ruthlessly forced. This 
was the den of these two wild beasts, where the children 
tliey had hunted were to be brought and kept as pris- 
oners. 

When the juvenile crowd came to the low, dark 
passage leading from the narrow street into the den, 
Gambrina did not allow them to pause an instant at 
the entrance, but rudely pushed them in. 

There was only one door. Not a single window ap- 
peared in sight. The bottom of the cobble-stone passage 
was a filthy gutter, through which oozed a foul and 
fetid puddle of water, thrown out by the equally filthy 
and lazy occupants of the adjoining tenements. Slowly, 
like a black wounded snake, this thick stream of mud 
crept its way to the contiguous gutters of the outer 
street, and passed on from thence to the city sewers. 

All the children were now crowded into one small, 
low, narrow room. It was literally black with lamp 
smoke. Large masses of floating lamp-black had risen 
up from the lamps, and mingled in the masses of flying 
dust that hung from the cracked and tottering ceiling 
overhead. They swayed wildly to and fro in the damp 
wind that swept along the dark passage, fiDing all the 
place with sickening odors. 

On the opposite side of the room, directly against the 
door by which the children entered, was a still more 
narrow door, before which hung a dingy and dirty 
curtain, that partially hid a filthy secret recess beyond. 

Not a ray of light nor breath of fresh air was ever al- 
lowed to enter this grovelling den, except through the 
little low door which the children had just entered. A 

F 


82 


The Child- Hunters, 


large kerosene lamp, with a dim and battered reflector 
attached, its chimney cracked and broken, its oil re- 
ceiver grimed with crooked lines of dirt, hung against 
the wall. Only a few glimmering beams emanated from 
this poor apology for a light, and these were but spar- 
ingly disseminated over the centre of the room, by the 
worn-out and used-up reflector ;• leaving the corners as 
dark and dismal as ever. The whole room seemed 
filled with the darkness and effluvia of a malarial mid- 
night, fighting off the entrance of the day. 

The children paused as they crowded in, huddled 
rapidly together, and looked wildly around. The two 
padroni glared fiercely upon them. They glanced 
qifickly over the group, carefully counting each one of 
the number, to be sure that none had escaped from 
their clutches. There were sixteen in all — boys and 
girls. They were now all still more completely in the 
hands of their oppressors. 

Other parts of the den were occupied by boxes, which 
had once contained foreign goods, mostly Italian, and 
bore the letter M — diamond-marks of the party who 
had imported them. It was the trade-mark of Marina. 
Bales of cast-off* clothes, bearing similar trade-marks, 
stood promiscuously tumbled among organs, tambour- 
ines, accordeons, and other instruments of music — 
while a pert, filthy, chattering monkey was hopping to 
and fro on the rude summit of the mass. Chairs, 
tables, washstands, broken mirrors, were piled and 
thrown around in utter confusion. In one corner were 
spread out on the thickly-coated floor rows of little 
straw beds, fit only to be occupied by dogs in their 
kennels. 

Some of the rough boxes, strapped with narrow hoops 
of iron and leaning against each other, were marked 


83 


Den of the Padroni in America, 

‘‘Macaroni — Napoli.” On these boxes lay half-de- 
voured scraps of food, mingled with fragments of 
napkins and pieces of broken dishes. The empt}^ soup 
bowls and plates lay around in confusion. Fingers had 
supplied the places of knives and forks, and the cheap 
and battered wooden and horn spoons gave evidence 
that they were innocent of the approaches of clean 
water. The padroni had never trusted their helpless 
slave-gangs with any valuable articles of table furniture, 
lest they might be tempted to appropriate them to sup- 
ply their starving wants. 

Here, then, in this horrid den, was to be the future 
home of these hunted children of Italy, — of Italy, 
once the chief seat of the religion, science and riches 
of the world. 

Its odor was as horrible as its aspect. The pure air 
and light of heaven seldom ever reached and perme- 
ated its slimy depths. Its floor, its walls, its scanty furni- 
ture were all slippery with greasy dirt, and its atmo- 
sphere constantly filled with poisonous smoke. 

A dingy cord of manilla hemp was stretched across 
the remotest end of the room from wall to wall. On 
this were suspended, at intervals, curious arrays of 
different kinds of Italian garments. Shawls, capes, 
coats, vests, and other articles, hung around in promis- 
cuous confusion ; all covered thick with dirt, and all 
emitting that offensive, effluvia peculiar to the calling 
of the wearers. 

All this was a new scene of horror to Lucia and Lo- 
rette. The steerage of the bark that brought them as 
prisoners from Italy was bad enough, but this was much 
worse. Their parents were indigent and ignorant ; but 
they were not filthy. Here filth rioted in its own ex- 
cesses; and cleanliness was a thing as much unknown 
as if it had never been. 


84 


The Child- Hunters, 


In the midst of the stupid silence and bewilderment 
that had overcome the children, padrone Gambrina 
shouted : 

Down with your duds ! — all of you ; quick ! ” 

Suiting the action to the word, both the padroni 
seized the bundles of clothing the terrified group had 
tugged along the streets, and threw them violently on 
the nasty floor. Lucia and Lorette, being nearest to 
Gambrina, at the time, were the first to feel his cruel 
grip, as he tore away their little packages, and hurled 
them on a dingy mass of rags that lay in one of the 
most distant corners. 

“There! ” cried he, with a low chuckle, “ that^s to be 
your bunk. Understand, eh ? When I Ve got some 
time, and nothing else on hand, I look over your 
traps, and if I find anything there I think you don’t 
want, I ’ll take care of it myself. Understand, eh ? All 
your traps, little brats 1 has got to have your numbers 
fixed onto ’em. Understand, eh? Foitrnumbers, gals, 
is 76 and 77. That ’s as fur as we ’ve got onto the one 
hundred, ain’t it, Marc?” he cried, stopping a moment 
in his work, and looking inquiringly over to Vincens. 

“ Yes 1 I reckon,” replied the other padrone, me- 
chanically, without raising his eyes from the half- 
opened bundle he held in his hand. “ All right. Go 
ahead.” 

“Now, which is the oldest of you two gals?” resumed 
Gambrina, again fixing his keen, searching glance on 
Lucia and Lorette. 

Lucia stood up first, as an answer to the question. 
She was too terrified to speak. 

“ JVhat ’s your name ? ” he asked, with a leer in his 
deep, black eye. 

“ Lucia, signor.” 


85 


Den of the Padroni in America, 

“ Good for old Italy ! ’’ added the padrone, with 
another leer. “ How old are you ? ’’ 

The child hesitated. 

“ Come, now ! No dodging ! Out with it ! and mind 
you tell the truth ! If you don’t — I ’ll — ! ” His eyes 
flashed fire as he looked her full in the face. 

“ Fourteen, signor,” Lucia answered. 

“ Fourteen ! ” he responded ; “ rather a small brat for 
that age. But you ’ll grow larger as you grow older ! ” 

Lucia Garcia,” he muttered, as he entered the name 
in his dirty and crumpled memorandum-book ; then 
adding: “ Age, fourteen ; number, seventy-six.” 

Glaring again on the trembling children, he re- 
peated : 

“ Squat down there, on them bundles of duds yonder, 
76 .” 

. Gambrina’s attentions were now turned to Lorette. 

“What you say your name, spindler?” he asked, 
with a tone of sarcasm in his voice, as he eyed her deli- 
cate form. 

“ Lorette, signor,” she replied, rising to her feet, and 
bending her glance away from his cruel looks. 

“ Lorette ! Old Italy, again, forever ! ” cried the pa- 
drone, with a species of ironical ribaldry. “ And what 
did you call your age. Miss Pretentious Modesty?” 
cried he, with a glance and tone of scorn. “ Speak 
louder, you weakly scrawn! — or I’ll find a way to 
your slender throat, you won’t like. Your name and 
age?” he asked, turning abruptly and fiercely on Lo- 
rette. 

The poor child was so frightened that she started 
tremblingly on her feet. 

“ Answer, quick ! ” cried the brute, wdth a motion 
toward his stiletto. 

8 


86 


The Child- Hunters. 


Lorette, signor,” she said. 

^‘Age?” 

Thirteen, signor.” 

She dared not look the wretch in his horrid face. 

Fourteen — thirteen,” muttered Gambrina to him- 
self. “ Both mighty small gals for them years. These 
city Florentinians never was a big race. But they ’ve 
got to do their parts just the same.” 

Turning brusquely on both the girls, he continued : 

JS'ow, mind me, little gals ! You has to do your works 
your ages — not by your size. Understand, eh ? ” 

Calling to Vincens, he coolly asked : 

“ These two gals had their suppers down at the Castle, 
did n’t they?” 

“ Yes ! ” replied Vincens, his voice becoming harder 
than ever, as he glanced over the heads of the children : 

All the supper they ’ll get to-night.” 

That ’s so — exactly,” quickly responded Gambrina. 
‘‘All the supper they’ll get to-night! I thought so. 
Understand that, gals 1 Eh ? Now stand up, here, in 
front of your padrone, signor Vincens.” 

The children implicity obeyed the harsh command. 

“ This is Lucia, signor. Give her a ticket numbered 
76. She’s so entered in the book. Now,” continued 
he, looking back to the children, “ you first little brat 
we’ll sometimes call by your number, and sometimes 
by your name. Sometimes we ’ll call you Lucia, and 
then, again, sometimes 76. Understand, eh ? And you, 
weakling,” he added, with a tone of derision, “you, 
Lorette, we number 77. Sometimes we ’ll call you one 
thing, sometimes another. I ’m afraid, at the best, by 
any number, or by any name, you ’re not of much ac- 
count. But mind, both of you I ” he continued, raising 
his voice, and giving it stern emphasis : “ mind, I tell 


87 


Den of the Padroni in America, 

you, and be sure and answer, be sure and come to us 
padroni, whatever number and whatever name we call 
you. Understand, eh ? ” 

Pointing his long, lank, crooked forefinger at Lucia, 
he asked : 

‘‘ What is your number, gal ? ” 

76, signor,” demurely answered Lucia. 

‘‘And whaUs your number, spindler?” he asked, as 
he turned to Lorette, contemptuously : 

“ 77, signor,” she said, in a voice as strong as she could 
possibly employ. 

“76 and 77,” continued the padrone, repeating the 
names and numbers as one having authority. “ Lucia, 
76; Lorette, 77. So you are both marked and num- 
bered. So you will always answer. It ’s so down in the 
Black Book.- When we calls for returns from 76, you, 
Lucia, will come forrard. When we calls returns from 
77, you, spindler Lorette, will do the same. And when 
you both comes forrards, mind that you returns every 
penny; every penny, I say! Understand, eh? Now, 
then, since you’ve had your suppers, go to your 
bunks.” 

The two little girls now retired, with all the rest, to 
their pallets of rags and straw. Four other girls had 
previously lain down, as close as they could be packed, 
in the same place. 

The whole tired and hungry company tried to sleep. 
But to such a crowd, in such a place, sleep was im- 
possible. 

Night settled down darkly on the hunted strangers. 

It was their first night in America. 

Next morning, just at the break of day, all the chil- 
dren were rudely called up, to partake of what was 
called a breakfast. They had all been fasting for nearly 


88 


The Child-Hunters, 


twenty-four long and lonely hours of misery; and 
miserable, indeed, was the attempt to break that terri- 
ble fast. 

Scanty, to tbe last extremity, was their pittance of 
food. Their drink was no better. The wretched meal 
was quickly dispatched; the padroni all the while 
standing near by, and hurrying their poor captives to 
the utmost, begrudging them every mouthful they ate, 
and every drop they drank. 

The two padroni took turns with their victims in the 
public places they frequented. This was the day for 
Vincens to remain at home. Gambrina was to take to 
the thoroughfares. They had spent nearly all the night 
in drinking and carousing together. Their wicked 
schemes of child-plunder had thus far worked to perfec- 
tion. The game they hunted had all been safely bagged, 
and they were supremely happy. Now they could rob 
them at their pleasure, and divide the spoils between 
themselves — taking care, only, by deception, falsehood 
and forged accounts, to keep on business terms with 
their partners in infamy, both in Europe and America. 

The plot was deeply laid. Its execution was carried 
forward with consummate skill. Men in authority, 
women moving in the so-called fashionable circles of 
society, some of whom were never suspected, and from 
all of whom better things were looked for, were con- 
nected with these infamous schemes against the help- 
less children of Italy. It might well be said of the little 
ones, in the words of holy writ: 

‘ On the side of their oppressors there was power; and they 
had no com forter ! ’ 

The robber den of Italian padroni was not the only 
place where the rich spoils stolen from helpless children 
were received, secreted, divided and squandered. Many 


Den of the Padroni in America, 89 

a finely furnished office, many a splendid parlor, many 
a. luxurious chamber, with its gorgeous bedsteads, its 
pillows of down and its tapestries of silk and gold, owed 
their existence and the revelries of their occupants, 
some of them in high life, to the gains that had been 
wrung from the performances, in the open streets, of 
Italian children. 

Official participants in this vile traffic set their seals 
to the documents of these avaricious padroni, and 
shared with them their cruel plunder; plunder stained 
with the blood and wet with the tears of little children. 
Theirs was the commission business of infamy and 
crime. They lived on the fat of the land, while their 
victims starved. They were clad in purple and fine 
linen, while those on whose sufferings they rioted were 
but half clothed in rags. By the secret connivance of 
men in power this wicked business was carried on and 
prospered. The education, food, clothing, health and 
happiness of thousands of children, nay, even their very 
lives, w^ere laid on the altars of avarice and lust, that 
the foul system of padronism had reared in different 
parts of the world. 

Thus began the American career of Lucia Garcia and 
Lorette Ferenza. Often, at high noon, these two girls 
might be seen together, following the footsteps of their 
padrone through the great city of New York. Under 
the shadow of the Merchants’ Exchange, on Wall street, 
they were wont to crouch, like two little doves who 
were flying from their pursuers. Throngs of devoted 
worshippers at the thousands of shrines in that Mecca 
of gold, crowded to and fro, where these young per- 
formers were pouring out on the busy air the strains 
of their instruments of music and the melody of their 
sweet voices. One of the padroni, Yincens or Gam- 
8 * 


90 


The Child- Hunters, 


brina, was invariably near at hand. Sometimes they 
were immediately with the children, directing their 
movements. Oftener they were secreted in some porch, 
down some area, under contiguous steps, or around a 
near corner, watching, as a vulture watches the prey it 
is just ready to devour. There was policy in this. If 
they were always seen with the children, it would be 
suspected that they were always to receive their gains. 
Whereas, while the children were apparently left to 
themselves, as public performers, many generous donors 
would give them money, under the impression that it 
would reward them directly, or else go to their supposed 
parents at home. So adroit were the deceptions of these 
consummate villains. But they were always close in 
sight of their abject dependents. A distant wave of the 
hand, a shrill whistle, a knock on the curbstone with a 
rude stick, was quickly heard by the children, and at 
once understood. There was meaning in it. Passing 
strangers would give to musical prodigies directly, when 
they would not to those who employed them. 

When the Place of the Monej^-Changers had been 
visited, and all gleaned from the visit that could possibly 
be obtained, in that way and at that time, the padroni 
would abruptly drive their victims, like slaves, from 
the market-place. Then came the moment of the 
surrender of all their earnings. The greedy wretches 
were not content, as a general thing, to wait until the 
hour of night brought the children to darkness and the 
den. They snatched their money from them while yet 
they held it in their naked little hands, and immedi- 
ately hurried them away to other places of labor, suffer- 
ing and robbery. 

Understand, eh? ” said Gambrina, on all such occa- 
sions. “Every penny! — every penny! Mind, now! 


Den of the Padroni in America. 


91 


I ’ve been watching you both ! Open both your hands ! 
Every penny, I say ! Hand it over, quick ! ” 

The last poor hirthing was always forthcoming, from 
the delicate hand of the child to the large, dark hand 
of the padrone. That small hand never felt the touch 
of that farthing again. 

Of one thing these children were sure. They were 
sure of miserable food. They were sure of other things. 
They were sure of ragged clothing. They were sure of 
a den for a home. They were sure of a hard pallet at 
night. They were sure, indeed, of all kinds of brutal 
treatment. Home, parents, brothers, sisters, all the 
innocent sports of childhood, that come sweetly as a 
balm to the spirits of the poor — ah! these outcast 
children had none! All of these were gone— gone, 
alas! perhaps forever! Squalor wasted their bodies. 
Superstition fettered their minds. Vice tempted to ruin 
their souls. They were hunted children, in the tangled 
thorns and barren wastes of life. 



CHAPTEK IX. 

A SCENE IN THE DEN. 


The poor beetle, that we tread upon, 

In corporal suffering feels a pang as great 
As when a giant dies. 

Shahspeare. 

O NE night, when the weather was unusually dark and 
stormy, the juvenile performers were driven from 
their accustomed public haunts to the dismal retreat 
of the den. They could hear the driving of the wind 
along their narrow alley, the pattering of the big drops 
of rain on the thin roof over head, and the dull roar of 
the city in the distance. 

The padroni were both there. They had extorted all 
they had from the children, and counted it penuriously 
on their dirty table, under the dim light of the old 
battered lamp. They were both in particularly bad 
humor with themselves, the children, and, more espe- 
cially, the paltry income of the day. 

The whole of the vile den was now steaming with 
pollution. The smoking lamp sent out unusually 
pestiferous odors. The filthy flakes of lamp-black were 
falling, like flakes of snow dyed in ink, all around the 
dingy room, and covering every object within their 
reach. The Naples macaroni box, dirty and greasy 
from being so constantly occupied, stood at right angles 
from its dark corner. Two girls, only half-clad in their 
out-door habiliments, cold and dripping with the rain, 

92 


A Scene in the Den. 


93 


leaned np against the sides of the box. The heat of the 
red-hot stove drew out the vapor from their filthy 
clothes, so that they smoked in curls of steam, like two 
charred sticks of wood taken from the fire, and partly 
quenched with water. 

Groups of children lay around in heaps, or lounged 
against the rude pieces of broken furniture. Some 
held in their naked hands their greasy hats and tangled 
bonnets-, while others clung, with the force of instinc- 
tive habit, to the instruments of music by means of 
which they were forced to earn their daily bread. 

A rickety pine table stood against the centre of the 
wall. Here was a bottle, already half emptied of its 
poison whiskey. Close beside it was a shattered bowl 
and thickly-coated wooden spoon. Every drop of soup 
was gone. A black and rumpled curtain hung from the 
low ceiling down to the floor, near by, only half hiding 
the low door-way beyond. The door itself had been 
long since battered down, to make room for the poor 
sufferers, and split up for fire-wood. 

Directly opposite the burning flicker of the lamp, 
suspended high on the shattered and cracked plaster- 
ing, as if looking down in anger on the atrocities com- 
mitted in the room, was a highly-colored picture of 
General Garibaldi, in his familiar uniform of the red 
shirt. Never did the Italian hero seem more out of 
place. The only wonder of the passing stranger would 
be how such a picture should be hung in such a den 
of infamy. Be that as it may, Garibaldi was' certainly 
not its patron saint. 

Beneath this picture, surrounded by miniature flags 
of Italy, and sundry weapons of war, in rude Eoman 
capitals, were these words : 

^‘E’VIVA ITALIA!” 


94 


The Child-Hunters, 


On a raised platform, which stood immediately under 
the lamp, on the opposite side of the room, was an 
ancient street organ. It was evidently in its dotage, 
and had seen better days. An occasional touch from 
some frivolous hand gave instant evidence that it was 
in the venerable stage of wheezing and gasping for 
breath, and that its oft-used internal pipes were sadly 
out of gear. The crank by which the interior works 
were wound up was nearly twisted from its handle. 
The aperture for the winding key was battered all over, 
as if hands far from steady had frequently fumbled 
about, either ignorantly, or indolently, or drunkenly, 
for an entrance. 

In front, in the midst of hieroglyphics, capped with 
plates of brass and carved ornaments of spurious gold 
and silver, stood out over the fancy pipes the arms of 
Italy. They seemed as much out of place, associated 
as they were with that classic and beautiful land, the 
ancient birthplace and home of music and song, as 
the picture of Garibaldi did in the den of the padroni. 

A large monkey, clad in the full regalia of his tat- 
tered royalty, was perched on the top of the organ. 
The light shone down full on his bare and grizzled face. 
His tasselled cap hung drooping under his elongated 
chin, a flaming feather stuck in its rim. A flaunting 
flannel cape hung over his shrugged-up shoulders. 
With a saucy leer in his restless eyes, he was leaning 
over the organ, and bending his gaunt form as far for- 
ward as the rope that bound him would allow ; all the 
while chattering and screeching, at intervals, at the top 
of his voice. The excited creature leaped frequently 
on the top of the organ, clambered over the carved 
crown that surmounted it, and seemed to be just ready, 
every moment, to spring out into the room. He was 


A Scene in the Den. 


95 


evidently bewildered and maddened at what he saw 
and heard. 

The children were occupied, as usual at such times, in 
thoughtless and indolent pursuits. Some of them were 
attracted by the scene that so wrought up the monkey 
to fury. Among these stood Lucia. She was com- 
pletely overcome with terror at the sight. Her head 
had fallen down on her right hand, which leaned agains^. 
one of the corners of the organ, while her left loosely 
held her tambourine, as if she were just ready to let it 
hill on the floor at her feet. 

It was a sad scene that w^as now going on. A very 
small boy, only some nine years of age, dressed shabbily 
in the old cast-off suit of a much older lad, was held 
in the middle of the room by the brutal grip of the 
padrone Gambrina. The body of the child was nearly 
all naked, especially around the back, arms and shoul- 
ders. The rest of his garb hung in a mass of rags 
around his dirty feet. He was dragged close up to the 
knees of Gambrina, and held there as if in the vice of 
a blacksmith, or the hug of a bear. 

The right arm was in the right hand of Gambrina. 
The left hung helplessly down at the side of the child. 
He held in the right hand, which the grip of Gambrina 
forced high in the air, a small violin — the only means 
by which he lived. 

He was a pitiful picture of fright and sorrow. He 
was held to the floor, as if transfixed to it by a bolt of 
iron. His piteous cries betokened the intensity of his 
agony. It was these that had attracted the wild notice 
of the poor monkey — for the child was his street com- 
panion. Together they had often roamed along the 
stone pavement; he with the piping organ, the other 
with the tinkling triangle. The monkey had seen his 


96 


The Child- Hunters, 


fellow-traveller rudely handled by the padrone; but he 
had never heard him utter such piteous cries before. 

In the midst of this exciting scene, the padrone Vin- 
cens w^as lying half drunk, stupid and indifferent, on 
a soft pile of manilla mats. Stretched out at his ease, 
he turned a maudlin look around, as if he took no 
personal interest in what was going on. Gambrina 
knew well enough how to manage these little matters. 
Why should he care ? 

So, leaning carelessly back on his easy bed, drawing 
up one of his knees for greater convenience, glancing 
at his long pipe to see that it was still well filled, he 
took another large draught from his bottle of whiskey, 
and gazed idly on. A thick cloud of tobacco smoke 
curled up lazily around him from the floor, moving in 
circles over his head, like the folds of vapory serpents 
afloat in the air. 

More of the children had now become interested 
spectators of the scene. But not one of them dared to 
move a finger, or utter a syllable. 

Vincens, alone, seemed perfectly at home, and to 
relish the proceedings immensely. With an occasional 
loud and coarse chuckle he cried out to Gambrina in 
Italian : 

‘‘Good! Give it to him! I’ll hold his clothes while 
you lay it on ! ” 

Poor Lorette was the most terrified and agonized of 
all. She had softly crept to the only passageway out 
of the room. Here she clung to the side of the door- 
post, half hiding her trembling form and shading her 
tearful eyes in the old curtain that hung down from the 
ceiling. She was struck utterly dumb with amazement 
and grief. Then came the impulse to rush out and call 
for help; but fear, and her abject dependence, chained 


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A Scene in the Den, 97 

her to the spot. The dear child could only weep and 
pray for the poor sufferer. 

The padrone had now dragged his helpless victim 
still farther into the centre of the den. Here he held 
the child still closer in the demoniac grip of his left 
hand. His right was raised high aloft, and flourished a 
knotted leathern scourge — such as was once used in 
the Roman army — the same, in point of historical fact, 
as the cruel soldiers of ancient Jerusalem employed, 
when they seamed with bleeding gashes the person of 
the Son of God. 

This little sufferer, also, was from Italy. His name 
was Jose Maria Aquila. He had neither father nor 
mother, brother nor sister. So far as was known he 
had not a relative on the earth. He was the youngest 
violin player in the whole troupe. Pie played it with 
consummate skill, so as to secure instantly the admira- 
tion of all who heard him. Plis conduct, as a child, 
was as beautiful as his playing was charming. All who 
knew little Jose, the Italian violinist, loved him well. 

This day he had hurried back to the den, through the 
driving storm, sick and penniless. He had wandered, 
barefooted and wear}", all day in the rain, in company 
with his keeper, with the monkey and the organ, alter- 
nating his performances between his violin and his 
triangle — but he had taken nothing from the streets. 
The people would not come out in the rain even to see 
the monkey perform, or to hear the young violinist ; and 
when the coarse keeper forced his way into his familiar 
haunts, and some small stipends were doled out to him, 
he kept the whole himself, spent them for drink and 
tobacco, and then swore that little Jose had stolen them 
from his organ-drawer ! 

The boy thus fell into the hands of these child-hunt- 
y G 


98 


The Child- Hunters, 


ers, like a bird into the snares of the fowlers. He was 
completely in Gambrina’s clutches. That brutal wretch 
and drunkard — aptly named Bruta Gamhrina — would 
not listen for a moment to the least word of explanation 
or apology. 

“The young thief! he shouted to the equally im- 
bruted Vincens, across the den. “He’s stolen the 
money ! He ’s got it now secreted somewhere 1 I ’ll 
whip both the secret and the money out of him, or I ’ll 
whip out his life I ” 

“ J — j — es’ so,” shouted back Vincens, his voice now 
thick with the effects of the liquor he had drunk so 
freely. “Gi — gi — give it to the thieving br — br — at! 

L lay it on — h — hot and h — h — eavy — Brutey ! 

Ha! ha! ha! ha! Only hear the young scamp h — h — 

oiler! Hear h — h — im, n ow! It’s’s — g — 

good ’s ’er — play ! Ha ! ha ! ” 

All this while the flogging was going on. The mon- 
key was chattering and screaming. The other children 
were sobbing and praying around. 

Flying through the air, above his head, waved from 
the whip-stock in his hand, like a nest of scorpions with 
their heads fastened together, the scourge of Gambrina 
was lashed down on the shoulders, arms and back of 
the groaning and screaming child. Thicker and faster, 
harder and harder, the blows fell on the torn and 
shrinking flesh. Great red wales followed each blow, 
rising up, as it were, on the body of the sufferer, to 
write, in lines of blood, their sentence of condemnation 
against the cruel scourger. 

In his fiendish excitement the long, coarse black 
hair of Gambrina fell down in large masses over his low 
forehead. His mustache drooped over his mouth, ren- 
dering his hideous face still more hideous, while his 


A Scene in the Den, 


99 


projecting, tusk-like teeth, as his lips curled with de- 
moniac hate, shone and glittered like the jaws of a 
wolf. 

“ Yer young imp of Satan ! ” cried Gambrina to the 
child : “ how dare yer do such a thing to yer padrone / 
Don’t yer know that if I chose I ’d kill yer in a minnit? 
Eh ? ” 

“Cor — cor — ect!” mumbled out Vincens, who had 
now fallen helplessly over on the floor, completely 
drunk. “H — h — it’im ag — gin! Var — r — mint! 
Stealin’ fr’m ’is fr — fr — nds! ” 

“Take that!” continued Gambrina, as he struck vio- 
lently again across the tender young breast. “And 
that ! And that ! ” 

Each blow preceding and following each word. 

The screams of the child were now simply terrible. 

He sank down on the floor, with heart-piercing sobs, 
crying : 

“Oh! Oh! Don’t kill me ! ” 

“ It ’s ‘ oh ! ’ it ’s ‘ oh ! ’ is it ? I ’ll give yer more ' oh ! ’ 
before I get through with yer! I’ll make yer say 
‘oh!’ for the last time, ef yer don’t give up that 
money ! ” 

“Cor — r — ect! ” grunted Vincens from his stye, on 
the floor, now utterly helpless in his debauch. 

Little Jose Maria had sunk down in speechless agony. 

The sudden cessation of the blows, and the silence 
of the cries of the child, reacted on Vincens. He 
started from his prostrate position, and leaned forward 
from his mats, resting on his left elbow. Removing 
his long filthy pipe from his mouth, he reached out 
again for his bottle. But he was too drunk to reach 
it securely, so it fell out of his grasp, tumbling over on 
the floor, and spilling the vile contents around. 


100 


The Child- Hunters, 


Eecovering himself and the bottle, a moment after, 
the drunken wretch turned to Gambrina, and muttered 
out : 

“ ’E — e’s got the rn money, B b — rutey ! 

G — got it, s — s ure ! W — whip’p’ it out ’m, I say 

Gambrina renewed his blows on the tenderest part 
of the child’s side, and the trembling creature crept 
in between the legs of his tormentor, who thundered 
out: 

“ So ! y er mean to creep a'svay, do yer ? I ’ll see ’bout 
that ! ” 

Stooping down low, the monster lifted up the boy by 
main force, and held him out, at arm’s length, before 
all the children. 

“ Look there ! ” he shouted again, beside himself with 
rage, and the overpowering passion of drink and ava- 
rice that was so strong within him : 

“I’ll teach all yer brats what yer ’ll git by stealin’ ! 
See that, eh ! ” 

As he ended this sentence, he threw the boy on the 
floor with a violence that might have broken every 
bone in his emaciated body. In his fall the boy 
knocked the violin out of his hands, so that as he 
fell on it the instrument was smashed to atoms. 

“There! ” cried the padrone, springing forward, with 
the rage of a tiger who had lost his prey. “Another 
violin knocked all to pieces — and not a stiver of 
money brought in to-day by this pup I I ’ve a mind to 
smash him to flinders, too, on the spot ! ” 

“C — c — cor — recti” muttered Vincens, who had 
but just understood the last part of this threat of Gam- 
brina, and thought it w’ould at once be carried into 
execution. 

“Look — a — here!” continued Gambrina, as Yin- 


A Scene in the Den, 


101 


cens tried to recover himself, and listen. “This yere 
chap haint got no father, nor mother, nor no other 
folks that we knows on, has ^e? Eh, Marc? ” 

“ Cor — r — ect ! ” again muttered Vincens. 

“ He ’s a sickly sprout of a brat, any how ! 

“Ay! ay!’^ again growled Vincens from the floor. 
“Cor — r — ect! No father — no m — m — mother — • 
no — no hr’ — th — er — no sis — sis — t’r. Whar — t’s’e 
— good — for ? ” 

“ Good for nothing ! retorted Gambrina. “ The same 
as you are, just now.’^ 

“Cor — r — rect!” mumbled Vincens. “But I say. 
Brut — ey! let’s t — t — ake ’noth’r drink, ole — fel — 
ler! Eh?” 

Nothing loth, Gambrina pushed his way to the bottle 
over the children, leaving poor little Jose Maria to 
crouch down where he left him. The child turned over 
on his breast, exposing to all the horror-stricken group 
his emaciated back, that was seamed all over with 
gashes and red and clotted with his blood. 

Lifting up the bottle of liquor and nearly draining it 
of its contents, Gambrina rushed back to the fallen child. 
In a moment more he seized the dripping scourge, and 
began rapidly repeating his demoniac blows. 

“ I ’ll kill him if he don’t give up the money ! ” 
shouted Gambrina, who began at once to feel the in- 
fluence of the large draught of liquor he had so greedily 
swallowed. 

“ Cor — r — ect ! ” added Vincens : “ ’e ’can eas’ly 

sp — sp — are ’im ! ” 

“ That ’s so ! ” replied Gambrina. “ But, then, there ’s 
the bill for burying his carcass ! ” 

“ ’Spence ? ” Vincens answered. “ N — ot much, 
’reckon ! ” 

9 * 


102 


The Child- Hunters, 


“ That ’s so, Markey, my boy ! That so ! Coffin ’s 
ready made, ain’t it? ” 

“ Cor — rect ! Ov’r there ’n ’e cor — ner ! ” 

^‘Too large, by half! ” 

“ ’En — git ’n oth’r not s’ big I ” 

“ Jes so I I ’ll look over the nest of coffins we have on 
hand I ” 

Thus the two villains conversed with one another, 
over the prostrate form of the mangled and bleeding 
child. 

Gambrina now threw aside a filthy pile of rags from 
a dark corner, revealing the hitherto unnoticed pres- 
ence there of a stack of rude pine coffins. They were 
all of the juvenile sizes, and painted a dead black. 

Poor little Jose Maria was so small that he had not 
entered into the calculation of the padroni when they 
spent a portion of their idle time in making these 
coffins. They were all packed in a nest together, the 
largest on the outside, and filled down close to the 
smallest, so as to save room in the den. Everything 
about them was of the cheapest and meanest construc- 
tion. A coarse resemblance of a death’s head and cross 
bones was cut in the wood on each coffin-lid. No glue- 
ing or dove-tailing marked any part of the work. The 
rough boards, full of knots and splits and splinters, were 
just nailed together by the old rusty nails that had 
come across the ocean in the plundered chests of the 
children, and in the boxes that brought their macaroni 
from Naples, Florence and Leghorn. 

These silent black monitors were kept handy in the 
den, not only for convenience and economy’s sake, but 
that they might be occasionally used still more to over- 
awe and terrify the children. Here were their coffins, 
already prepared and stacked up for them, beforehand. 


A Scene in the Den. 


103 


They were an admonition to them that if they did not 
render implicit obedience to their padroni in all things, 
— especially if they did not return every day and night 
every penny that they worked so hard to earn, — they 
would all suffer death. They were to be deprived of 
food, stripped as hir as possible of clothing, shut up and 
whipped as often and as long as the avarice and drunk- 
enness of the padroni might demand ; and then, for 
keeping one poor penny, no matter for what purpose, 
they were in danger of death. 

Such is the system of padrone slavery among captive 
Italian children. 

The heat of summer, the cold of winter made no 
difference. The child might be sick, and buy some few 
drops of medicine prescribed by a worthy physician. It 
might be hungry, nigh to starving, and spend a penny 
of what it earned to obtain a morsel of food. It might 
be half-naked, and be burning with heat, or shivering 
with cold. All the same to the hard-hearted padroni. 
Their slavery knew no mercy ; their bondage cared for 
nothing else but to be cruel. They claimed to own 
these children, body and soul ; every moment, and 
everywhere. Even the very blood of their young hearts 
the padroni would coin into money. 

The last low flicker of the old lamp of the den had 
now gone out. The cries and groans of the whipped 
child had ceased. The wild screams of the monkey 
were heard no more. Darkness had settled down on a 
den of silence. The padroni, drunk and stupid, lay 
snoring in their filth. The sad groups of the children 
were piled around. The most of them were so com- 
pletely exhausted by their sufferings that they sank off 
to uneasy slumbers. Some few of them, oppressed with 
their toils and heart-broken at thoughts of home, of 


104 


The Child- Hunters, 


fathers and mothers, and other dear kindred far across 
the sea, were tossing on their beds of rags, unable to 
sleep. Hungr}^, thirsty, sick and weary, they wore the 
dark night away, longing for an escape from the den, for 
the comparative freedom of the open air, and the little 
tokens of kindness which even the cold charity of the 
great world outside might dole out among them. 

The morning was now beginning to break. Poor 
little Jose Maria had just sufficient strength left, as he 
fell out of the relaxed grip of the drunken padrone, to 
creep to a pile of dry and warm rags near the stove. 
Here he had lain for hours, afraid to move, afraid even 
to groan. He could barely breathe, in the torture of 
his agony. No home — no country; — no father, to 
protect him with his strong arm; no mother to fold 
him in her loving bosom ; no brother to shield him ; no 
sister to soothe ; a broken and bruised waif of humanity, 
he lay there alone in that padroni den in the great and 
Christian city of New York. 

As the hour came for the elder children to do the 
drudgery of supplying themselves and the rest of the 
company with their messes of macaroni, and other 
similar food, groups of half-starved expectants began to 
be formed around different parts of the den. 

The dingy and sparse sops were soon passed from 
hand to hand, and from mouth to mouth. 

Immediately the silent band of waiters came to where 
Jose Maria was lying. He was found sticking to the 
floor, in a pool of his own blood. His little face was 
turned toward the wall. His eyes were wide open, as 
if his gaze was fixed immovably on the picture of the 
noble patriot Garibaldi, that hung before him. 

The attending children rolled him gently over on his 
back, and kindly put their small cup of broth to his 


A Scene in the Den, 


105 


pale lips. But his large eyes moved not from their 
fixed gaze. It was only the change of the position of 
his body that had turned them toward heaven. 

The child-nurses pressed the cup on his lips. But 
they opened not to receive any portion of its contents. 
They called his name, softly : 

Jose ! Jose Maria ! ” ' 

He answered not. 

Then they said : 

Wake up, Jose ! Here ’s some breakfast for you ! ’’ 
Still he was silent. 

Then one kind-hearted little girl, who sometimes 
went in his company on the streets, put her ear close 
down to his mouth, to learn if she could hear his breath- 
ing. There was not a single breath there. Then they 
put their hands on his face. It was almost as hard as 
marble, and as cold as ice. 

Jose Maria was dead. 



CHAPTER X. 

STRANGE VISITORS. 


What blessed angels God sends to and fro, 

To wait on sinful man, e’en on his foe ! 

Spenser, 

I T was the morning of the holy sabbath day. 

The padroni woke early. The moment they dis- 
covered, by the unusual movements among their vic- 
tims, that little Jose Maria Aquila was dead, stupid as 
they were from their last night’s drunk, they resolved 
to bury the body without the delay of a moment. 

Adepts as they were in falsehood, practicing all kinds 
of secret villany, they had little or no difficulty in 
making up a story that should account for the death 
of the child, and secure authority for his burial. 

Washing off his blood-stains, wrapping the corpse in 
the cleanest strips of rags that could be conveniently 
procured, to save appearances, they sawed off the ends 
of the smallest coffin, carefully saving all they could of 
the painted wood for kindling their fires, and crowded 
the body into its last narrow bed. 

Every child in the den was called to look on the little 
skeleton face, and warned, as it stood by the coffin, of 
the danger of disobedience to the orders of the padroni. 
Withholding money, however obtained, even by the 
free gift of the charitable, and however much it might 
be needed by the children for bread to save their lives, 

106 


Strange Visitors. 


107 


or shoes to keep their naked feet from the snowy pave- 
ment, was insubordination; and insubordination to 
Italian padroni, they could here see for themselves 
was — death ! 

They were then commanded to abject silence. So 
sure as they broke that silence, so sure a severe flog- 
ging would follow. Perhaps, something worse. 

A respectable Italian family resided in the neighbor- 
hood of the den. This family consisted of but two — a 
husband and wife. They were both somewhat advanced 
in years, and were noted among all who knew them for 
their unobtrusive deeds of charity. Signor Persina 
Guccioli was a kind-hearted gentleman, and madame 
Guccioli was equally kind. They had resided in Amer- 
ica many years, and spoke well the language of the 
country. 

Living so near the den of the padroni, they had occa- 
sion to watch their conduct toward the children they 
so arbitrarily controlled. They saw how these wretched 
men were plunging headlong into dissipation. They 
trembled for the helpless little ones from their own 
native land, so completely in the power of such heart- 
less villains. 

Whenever, therefore, the padroni went off, as they 
were now accustomed to do more frequently, as their 
ill-gotten gains increased, on furloughs of drunkenness 
and gambling, the old couple were wont to take the 
children from the den to their own quiet home. Here 
other children were sometimes led in, like lambs 
gathered from the surrounding wilderness, to be fed, 
warmed and comforted. 

Even in the dismal and now frequently deserted den 
itself, these good people were accustomed to devote a 
portion of their time in caring for the juvenile occu- 


108 


The Child- Hunters, 


pants. They looked after the food and clothing of the 
children, as far as the overbearing tyranny of the pa- 
droni would allow, and always took special pains to 
minister to such of them as were sick. 

Madame Guccioli was a devoted Christian. Her hus- 
band, the signor, had not such a practical experience of 
religion as she had, although he joined heartily in all 
her benevolent labors. Both of them were constant at- 
tendants on the services of the Jtalian Mission of New 
York. Here it was, in harmony with sweet songs in 
the Italian language, that they heard, also in that lan- 
guage, 

The old, old story 
Of Jesus and His love. 

Here it was, best of all, that they gave their aged 
hearts to Christ. Here the}^ laid the ripeness of their 
experience, in Europe and America, at the foot of the 
cross. 

As Gambrina and Vincens went out to bury the dead 
Jose Maria, after obtaining, by false pretences, a written 
permit, the rest of the children were taken at once to 
the hospitable home of the Gucciolis. How sweet a 
retreat it was to the foot-sore, hungry and mournful 
little crowd ! How gladly, with what bounding steps, 
they all entered those welcome doors! What a con- 
trast was this pleasant dwelling to the smoky and dirty 
den of the padroni! What a delight to these outcast 
and hunted children to mingle in services of the Italian 
Mission Chapel, and for only a few hours to receive the 
instructions of the Italian Mission School ! 

Just as the school was closing, that memorable Sun- 
day morning, and the children were expressing their 
gratitude at being invited in by the good Gucciolis, 
two young strangers suddenly entered the room. 


Strange Visitors. 


109 


They were both gentlemen — and Italians. Judging 
by his dress and manner, the elder was the more 
thoroughly Italian of the two. 

Both, on presenting their credentials, were invited by 
the teacher to address the scholars. All the children 
rose as the gentlemen came forward to the teacher’s 
platform, and paid them becoming tokens of respect. 

It was a rare treat to that company of little wander- 
ers when the soft, silvery accents of Italia, in Christian 
tones, fell on their eager ears. They Avere instantly 
hushed to silence, and all listened with rapt attention 
to their native tongue. 

It appeared, as the two visitors introduced them- 
selves, that the younger one had been longer in 
America. He was now a student in an American col- 
lege. Both of them, however, evidently dearly loved 
their own native Italy. Both were doing what they • 
could to advance her honor and her happiness. They 
loved all the children of Italy, wherever scattered, up 
and down the earth. On her behalf they had crossed 
the sea, and were traversing these hospitable American 
shores. 

“Let us sing together!” said the younger stranger, 
with a smile, familiarly addressing his excited audience. 

“ Let us sing an Italian song.” 

Here was a surprise, indeed, to these juvenile musical 
amateurs. To be addressed in Italian by such a pleas- 
ant-looking gentleman Avas delightful. Noav to be 
invited to sing Avith him, in their oAvn language, Avas 
charming, indeed. 

“Oh ! isn’t it nice?” “ Hoav beautiful! ” “Yes,sir!” 
and such like expressions of grateful pleasure saluted 
the stranger from all parts of the school. 

On a small desk, in front of the speaker, Avas a copy 
10 


110 


The Child- Hunters, 


of the holy bible in Italian and English. Near by was 
a melodeon, on 'which lay several copies of songs in the 
Italian and English languages. Historical, national, 
patriotic and scriptural pictures hung around the room, 
with suitable maps of Italy and the American conti- 
nent. It was a beautiful intellectual home, where pil- 
grims from Italian and other shores were always made 
welcome. 

I guess we will sing with you, signor ! ” cried one of 
the smaller boys present, as he sprang up and threw 
out his tiny hands toward the strangers — his emphatic 
use of the familiar word “ guess,” showing plainly how 
apt a scholar he was in learning American idioms. 

Seating himself quietly at the melodeon, the young- 
er strange visitor ran his fingers rapidly along the keys. 
Then he broke out with one of the sweetest strains of 
Italy, in which his companion heartily joined. Then 
came the chorus, in which every child in the room took 
part. They all knew the song the moment the first 
note fell on their ears. It was the welcome song of the 
dear old land across the big waters. How those poor 
little hunted ones loved it ! How it carried them all 
back to the freedom and happiness of childhood at 
home ! 

Other songs quickly followed; then came a warm- 
hearted, tender address, full of good advice, still in Ital- 
ian, with many proofs of sympathy and love. It was a 
sweet balm to those little wounded souls. With simple 
words, welling up freely from a heart full of sincere 
devotion, he told the gathered wanderers before him 
the wonderful story of Christ, and led them up, step by 
step, from the manger and the miracles to the garden 
and the cross. 

It was a touching and beautiful sight. At the feet of 


Strange Visitors, 


111 


those two young Italian Christian strangers sat this 
company of Italian children. They looked in each 
other’s eyes, they listened to each other’s voices, and 
they mutually felt that they were already friends. 
Tears, warm and congenial tears, flowed freely on both 
sides — from the platform and from the benches. 
Never before had such home-like strains sounded in 
that room ; never before had it echoed to the story of 
Jesus, told with such truthful pathos by an Italian 
tongue. 

The child-hunters of Italy were at bay here. The 
tender lambs they had so long and so cruelly been 
hunting were safe, here, in a Christian fold. 

“ Oh ! I wish my father could hear that song ! ” said a 
dark-eyed boy, as the great tear-drops rolled down in 
torrents over his sun-burnt cheeks. 

“ I wish my mother could hear it, too ! ” added a 
pretty black -haired girl, as she wiped her tear-wet eyes 
wdth her cunning little Italian pinafore. 

Please, signor ! won’t you sing us another song?” 
half a dozen voices joined in chorus to ask. 

“ Certainly ! ” responded the signor. With the 
greatest pleasure. And I am very glad to have you 
children join so heartily in the chorus. You under- 
stand the words, I see.” 

Indeed we do ! ” quickly answered the whole com- 
pany. Every word, signor ! ” 

I am going to sing that song in Italy, one of these 
days,” said he. 

“You are?” was their expression of delighted sur- 
prise. 

“Then you’re going back to Italy?” inquired the 
largest boy, who seemed to be selected to speak for the 
rest of the school. 


112 


The Child-Hunters, 


“ I hope to, before long,” the stranger replied. 

^‘Please, signor, mayn't I go with you?” asked the 
smallest boy, springing off his bench, and running to- 
ward the platform where the singer stood. 

“And J, too? Mayn’t I go? ” instantly inquired a 
pretty little girl of twelve summers. “ Oh ! I want to 
go home, so bad ! ” 

“ What part of Italy are you from, please?” asked a 
burl}^ lad, speaking in Italian, with earnest emphasis. 

“ Naples,” replied the young stranger, a sweet smile 
of remembrance rippling over his fine features. 

“ Naples ! that ’s where I came from,” interrupted 
another boy. 

“And “And I!” chimed in several buoyant 

voices. 

“ But, now, don’t you all want to know where I came 
from,” asked the elder visitor. 

“ O ! yes, signor ! Please tell us, do ! do ! ” repeated 
half a score of voices. 

“Well,'dear children! I came from the Island of 
Caprera. Now who of you can tell me where that 
is?” 

“ Please, signor ! I can tell,” said a modest girl, as 
she lifted up her right hand. 

Say on I ” he answered, with a pleased glance at the 
speaker. 

The young scholar displayed a look of startled 
anxiety, which quickly changed to one of modest self- 
possession, as she replied : 

“The Island of Caprera — is a — small island in 

the Mediterranean Sea, close by the coast of Sardinia.” 

The other children looked up with a feeling of pride 
to this young girl. She was a favorite among them. 

Discovering her genius, madame Guccioli had taken 


Strange Visitors. 


113 


her under her special charge, and placed her advanta- 
geously in one of the Common Schools of New York. 

“ Right! ” said the stranger, with an approving nod. 

“And J know who lives there!” shouted a brave- 
looking boy, coming forward with a becoming bow. 

“ Who is it? ” asked the stranger, curiously. 

“ General Garibaldi ! ” replied the boy, at the very 
top of his voice. 

“ Right again ! ” the stranger added. “ And General 
Garibaldi is my father.” 

At this announcement the warm Italian enthusiasm 
of the school broke forth in a prolonged shout. One 
broad-shouldered lad, more enthusiastic even than the 
rest, cried out : 

“ Three cheers for General Garibaldi ! ” 

In a moment more the cheers rang out from all the 
throats at once, sweeping along like a torrent to the 
doors and windows. 

Before silence could be restored, another boy sprang 
on his seat, and waving his hat, exclaimed: 

“ Three cheers for General Garibaldi’s son ! ” 

Heartily all the boys and girls joined their voices to- 
gether. 

It was some moments before they calmed down, at 
the kind request of the manager of the school, in 
which both the young strangers earnestly joined. 

Never was there anything more thoroughly Italian. 
It was genuine, too. So they talked and chattered to- 
gether, like so many magpies. They were all back 
again to Italy, romping through its mountains and val- 
leys once more, and mingling their rattling voices with 
its sunny streams and golden clouds. 

How seldom, away there in their weary rounds with 
the padroni, in America, or in the damp and dark 
10* H 


114 


The Child-Hunters. 


dens, had they listened to such sweet words and songs 
as fell from the tongues of these Italian strangers ! It 
was just so like the dear home, away over, the water. 

So many hundreds in America had called them 
street Arabs,’’ and “ tramps,” and “ vagabonds,” and 
“ vagrants,” that to be spoken and sung to tenderly, and 
even lovingly, by real gentlemen — ahj it was such a 
balm to their sad and wounded young hearts, that they 
all wept tears of joy at the scene. 

The boys, especially, thinking now the ice was broken, 
and that they might do as they pleased, mounted on the 
benches, clapped their hands, shouted and waved their 
semi-soldier caps to their hearts’ content. 

One of the little fellows, impulsive and joyous like an 
enthusiastic Genoese as he was, seemed to think the 
younger stranger had been neglected. So he cried out 
above the din, just as boys often cry, when playing 
together not two feet apart : 

“Three cheers for that other young gentleman, 
there ! ” 

“Hurrah!” “Hurrah!” came the response, in a 
wild and joyous shout, from the throats of every boy 
and girl in the room. 

The stranger politely lifted his hand, with the white, 
soft palm toward the children, and pleasantly replied : 

“ Hush — h, dear children! No more cheers, if you 
please ! ” 

Instantly every voice was hushed to silence. 

“ My countryman here,” he continued, speaking 
gently, — “ your countryman, as well as mine, — is 
much obliged to you for this unexpected compliment; 
and so am I, just as much obliged. We both love 
General Garibaldi very much indeed. But it was not 
on his account, not to get cheers for him, or ourselves. 


Strange Visitors. 


115 


that we came to see you to-day. Be still now, please, 
and we will tell you that we came here to talk to you 
about Christ.” 

Here one mischievous boy, unable to contain longer 
his pent-up exuberance, was about to burst forth : 
“Three cheers for Chri — ,” when he was abruptly 
stopped by his more considerate sister, close by his side, 
who dexterously clapped her hand directly over his 
open mouth, checking his enthusiasm and his breath 
at the same moment. 

But the sister was the stronger as well as wiser of the 
two, and held firmly to her grasp. In a moment more 
he recovered his equilibrium, and subsided into respect- 
ful silence, with the rest. 

“ Dear little children of Italy 1 ” continued the speaker, 
not heeding the interruptions, “ I am very glad to meet 
you in America. The union between these two coun- 
tries is like that between the parent and the child. We 
Italians ought all of us to be on our good behavior in 
the United States of America. 

“ Above all, children, you should feel that it was the 
hand of God that guided our great ancestor, Christopher 
Columbus, to discover these wonderful western shores. 
It was the finger of the Almighty that gave direction to 
the little Italian ship, whose bow first touched the 
beautiful island of San Salvador. 

“ But, dear children, I have come here from Italy to 
tell you that you, also, are controlled by the same in- 
visible hand that led that brave sailor all the way from 
Genoa across an unknown ocean. 

^ God moves in a mysterious way 
His wonders to perform ; 

He plants His footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the storm. 


116 


The Child- Hunters. 


Deep in unfathomable mines 
Of never-failing skill, 

He treasures up His bright designs, 

And works His sovereign will/ 

I want you to look to God at all times, dear 
children. Mind what I say. Look to God at all times, 
and everywhere ; in America as well as in Italy. 

“ The holy bible which you see here before us, printed 
in our own native tongue, contains this divine an- 
nouncement : 

“‘Goc? dwelleth not in temples made with hands ^ — that 
is, God dwelleth not only or solely in such sacred 
places — but the heavenly message further tells us : 

“ ‘ God is a spirit ; and they who worship Him should 
worship Him in spirit and in truth,^ 

God, dear children, is everywhere and always pres- 
ent. 

“ In the book of psalms, printed here in Italian, you 
may read these words describing God : 

“ ^ Whither shall I go from Thy spirit f or whither shall I 
flee from Thy presence f If I ascend up into heaven, Thou 
art there. If I make my bed in hell, behold Thou art there, 
also. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the 
lUtermost parts of the sea, even there shall Thy hand lead 
me, and Thy right hand uphold mel 

Wherever you are, therefore, dear children, and at 
whatever time of your lives, you may come directly to 
God. It is through His Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, 
that God says to us all : 

* ‘ * Sujfler little children to come unto me, and forbid them 
not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven I 

Now, do any of you understand what is meant by 
coming to Jesus ? 

There was silence in the school. 


Strange Visitors. 


117 


You don’t answer ? Well, I will tell you. 

Coming to Jesus is being sorry for our sins, and 
believing that He will forgive us. 

But, perhaps, some of you youngest children think 
that Jesus won’t understand you, if you try to speak to 
Him. 

“Let me tell you, children, that Jesus understands 
every word you say, as well as everything you do. He 
knows all languages, and all hearts. He can answer 
your prayers ; He can forgive" all your sins. 

“ Yes, dear children ! and He can and will do it now, 
and here, if you will only call upon Him. 

“ Hear what the bible says : 

“ ‘ Let the wicked forsake his way^ and the unrighteous 
man his thoughts ; and let him return unto the Lord, and 
He will have mercy upon him, and to our God, for He will 
abundantly par don. ’’ ” 

Just as the speaker closed, and was about to take his 
seat on the platform, some of the boys w^ere still ready 
to give him three cheers. 

“ Now,” said he, gently raising his hand again, and 
motioning for continued silence, “ children, I am going 
to sing you another song, composed recently for Italian 
children, just like you. Will you listen to me ? ” 

The only reply he could get to his question was the 
expressive one of clapping hands. It was their com- 
promise for cheers. 

“ Have you any small instrument of music here ? ” he 
asked. 

“ No ! signor ! ” was the prompt answer of a dozen 
voices. “The padroni won’t let us have none, ’cept 
they ’s with us,” said one of the oldest boys, with a 
downcast look. 

“ Why not ? ” inquired the visitor. 


118 


The Child- Hunters, 


“’Cause, signor,” the same boy replied, “ef we has 
’em with us, the padroni thinks as how we may earn 
suthin’ for oursels ; which the padroni won’t let us do 
it, no how, please, signor ! ” 

“Please, signor!” interrupted Lucia, with a modest 
curtesy, “I guess I can run to madame Guccioli’s, 
close by, and get my tambourine I ” 

“Your tambourine?” said the stranger, with a sup- 
pressed smile. “ That ’s very kind of you ; but I hardly 
think that instrument will do for an accompaniment to 
singing.” 

“01” simpered Lucia, somewhat abashed, even for 
her. “I didn’t think of that, signori Excuse me, 
please, signor 1 ” 

“ Certainly, my little miss ! ” he pleasantly replied. 
“Your offer is just as kind. I would accept it, if I 
could, with all my heart.” 

“Would a guitar answer, please, signor ?” inquired 
Lorette, with a voice scarce above a whisper. 

“ A guitar ? Ah I yes, that will do, exactly, for a song 
of Italy I ” said he. 

“ I can run to madame’s, in a moment. I ’ll loan you 
my guitar for a little while — that is, if you ’ll take good 
care of it!” she added, her eyes casting a timid and 
anxious look on the floor. 

“ I ’ll try^ signorita,” he replied ; “ and if I injure it, 
I ’ll get you another.” 

0 ! it ’s not really mine, signor ! ” she added, quickly. 
“The padroni never allow us children to own any- 
thing ! ” 

“Not even your own instruments? Nor what you 
earn ? ” continued the stranger, with deep feeling in his 
inquiries. 

Lorette was silent. She dared not answer, in the 


Strange Visitors, 


119 


presence of so many witnesses, who would be tortured 
to condemn her to the ijadroni. 

“ I know ! ” blustered out a full-faced boy, who 
seemed all at once inspired with courage. “You see, 
signor! ef that girl, there, should get her guitar 
scratched a single bit, her padrone would flog her ever 
so hard I ” 

“ He would, would he ? ” exclaimed the elder stranger, 
interposing with a stern, commanding voice : “ I should 
like to see him do it I ’’ 

If a bomb-shell had fallen in that school-room, 
among those Italian children, they could not have 
been more excited than they were at this unexpected 
exclamation of that stranger. It startled them at once, 
as if with new and strange hopes. 

Was there, then, indeed and in truth, one who dared 
to speak thus boldly of their wicked oppressors, the pad- 
roni? Were there others who felt as he did? Could 
they, really, be taken from the dens of the lions, and 
the paws of the bears? Might they, after all, escajDe 
from the snares of the fowlers, and from the nets of 
the hunters ? 

What a beautiful American light broke that moment 
into that little Italian school-room I 

“JSTever fear! ’’ said the younger stranger, in a voice 
equally firm, although not quite so stern. “You may 
go and get your guitar, my child. No one shall hurt 
you, while there is a true son or daughter of Italy in 
the world.” 

The guitar was very soon brought, and quietly laid 
on the school-room desk. 

The stranger lifted it up gently, glanced his practiced 
eye rapidly along its strings, and, touching them with 
the hand of a master, he sang this song : 


120 


The Child- Hunters. 


ITALY’S PRAYER FOR HER CHILDREN. 


I. 

God of the heavens ! whose universal ear 
Doth the young ravens’ cry forever hear, 

Hearken, while now Italia’s children cry. 

And answer from Thy gracious throne on high ! 

II. 

How long ? Oh ! mighty Lord of hosts ! how long 
Are children hunted in Thy land of song ? 

How long, like lambs, be to the shambles led. 

Ere Thy right arm strike down the hunters dead ? 

III. 

Oh ! Jesus ! Mighty Saviour of the lost! 

Who saved Thy twelve, on dark Tiberias tost, 

From Superstition’s mad and cruel sea. 

Save Thou, O Christ ! the waifs of Italy ! 

IV. 

Oh ! faithful Shepherd ! Call Thou, as of old : 

Gather these scattered lambs within Thy fold ; 

Smite Thou the wolves, with murderous hunger rife. 
And feed Thy famished .flock with Bread of Life ! 

They were Italian words, to an Italian tune. Some 
parts of the song were above the comprehension of the 
children ; but they all knew the tune, and its familiar 
harmony sank into their young souls. It told them of 
Christ, of Galilee, of the Good Shepherd, and the Bread 
of Life ; and they were all comforted. 

A benediction, in Italian, followed this song ; and the 
services at the Mission School were closed. 

‘‘Now,” said old signor Guccioli, coming quietly for- 
ward, and addressing the two visitors, “let me take 


Strange Visitors, 121 

you, with the children under our care, to our home, 
close by.’^ 

So saying he led the way out of the school-room, all 
his little flock of children following — Lucia and Lo- 
rette among the number. 

“ But first let me take you to the den.” 

“ To the den ? ” asked the elder stranger, with an 
earnest look of inqi'dry. 

“ Come with us, and you shall see ! answered signor 
Guccioli. 

11 



CHAPTER XL 

THE DEN DESERTED. 


And though he posted e^er so fast, 

His fear was greater than his haste; 

For fear, though fleeter than the wind, 

Believes ’tis always left behind. 

Butler, 

T here are two sick little ones here,” said madame 
Gaccioli, in a soft voice, addressing the strange vis- 
itors, as she entered with them the padroni den, “and 
I should like to have you see the poor things.” 

The den was in the same situation in which the padroni 
had left it, when they went off that holy sabbath morn- 
ing to bury their murdered victim — Jose Maria Aquila. 

All the children kept in the den, including Lucia 
and Lorette, were present. They had run back hur- 
riedly to the dismal spot, not from love of it, but for 
fear their longer absence would be made known to the 
padroni, when they should return, as well as for sym- 
pathy with their fellow-sufferers. It is not impossible, 
also, that there was a feeling of curiosity in their young 
minds to see how the strange gentlemen would regard 
their place of suffering. Perhaps, too, there was a faint 
childish hope that something might be done by their 
countrymen for their relief. 

On the spur of the moment, our two heroines began 

i'll 


The Den Deserted. 


123 


a hasty adjustment of the den. It was in worse than 
characteristic confusion. The padroni had left it, if 
that were possible, in a greater than its usual disorder. 
In the centre of the room was the pile of bloody rags 
where the skeleton waif, poor Jose, had been whipped 
to death ; and the pool that had streamed down from 
his gashed back and shoulders was still in its dark 
stains on the filthy floor. The contents of the rude 
boxes and lines, on which were thrown and suspended 
their wonted occupants of defiled and ragged clothes, 
were scattered in heaps and draggled around on every 
side. The old Italian organ, with its dingy gilt barrels 
turned up silently to the sabbath light, stood in its ap- 
pointed place; while the familiar monkey, chattering 
with vexation and his confinement, and angry with 
long-continued hunger, leaped about at the utmost 
length of his chain. 

Dust, dirt and gloom reigned everywhere supreme. 
But Lucia and Lorette did the best they could to 
set things to rights. They covered up all the deformi- 
ties within their imperfect reach, adjusted their own 
dresses, and those of the smaller children, as well as 
they could ; having come only a short time in advance 
for the purpose. It was the national taste of Italy in a 
foreign padroni den ; making welcome to fitting repre- 
sentatives of Italy on American shores. 

On separate mats of rags, in one of the dark corners 
of the den, lay a sick boy and girl. They were both 
suffering intense agony, rendered more intense by the 
long-continued neglect and cruelty of the padroni. A 
raging fever coursed through their veins, occasioned hy 
their severe exposure to the storm which had been rag- 
ing without — the same storm iif which little Jose 
Maria, poor fellow ! had been unable to earn his usual 


124 


The Child-Hurders. 


stipend, and for the failure of which he had lost his 
life. 

Both these sick children had been drenched through 
to their skins with the cold rain. Nobody had cared 
for them, out in the crowded streets. Nobody had in- 
vited them in to a warm fire to dry their wet clothes, 
or to feed their famishing bodies with a crust of bread. 
All they could do for themselves they had done. They 
had crept back, shivering with chills, and burning with 
heats, in alternate fits ; with clinched teeth, and shriv- 
elled hands, the sport of the busy crowd passing along, 
and the victims of the elements, which, cruel as they 
were, were less cruel, by far, than the hearts of the pa- 
droni who held them in this terrible bondage. 

Madame Guccioli, the dear old Italian Christian soul, 
flew to the side of the sufferers as fast as her feet could 
hurry her. She bent down closely over them, as ten- 
derly as if they were her own little ones. In her kind 
and thoughtful charity, she had brought with her, as 
was her wont on all such occasions, a cup of warm 
macaroni broth. 

Both these devoted people, Guccioli and his wife, 
were constantly doing such acts as these. They were 
never happier than when doing good to others. The 
whole neighborhood had come to regard them as angels 
of mercy. They were never tired of ministering to the 
suffering ; literally, never weary in well doing. 

Faint, yet expressive smiles of gratitude passed over 
the faces of the two sick children as they both drank 
of the proffered cup. It was, indeed, like the cup of 
life to them. A voice softly whispered in that dark den, 
at that moment : 

\ 

^ Pure religion anU undefiled before God and the Father 
is thiSj to visit the widows and fatherless in their affliction,^ 


The Den Deserted, 


125 


Nor were the two young Italian visitors one whit be- 
hind this good old couple. They knelt down beside 
them at the same soiled mat, on the same filthy floor, 
and steadied the tremulous hands of the venerable 
dame as she put the cup of strengthening to the 
parched lips of the sufferers. They followed her sweet 
words of consolation with other kindred words of their 
own. The whole quartette of mercy extemporized a 
prayer-meeting on the spot. Their voices softl}^ and 
sweetly joined in a consoling and Christian song, adapted 
to a familiar Italian air; and then, together, they lifted 
their hearts in supplication to that God who, in all 
countries, in all ages, is the hearer and answerer of 
prayer. 

Lonely, pitiful and forlorn had been hitherto the 
career of that room full of Italian children in the 
commercial metropolis of America. Their throbbing 
hearts were always just ready to break with unmiti- 
gated suffering. People called them nothing but street 
Arabs ; dirty little pilferers, who would steal everything 
they could lay their hands upon ; sly liars and petty 
frauds, and bummers, whose words were forever unre- 
liable. But the Gucciolis, and others like them, had 
found out that these same wandering waifs had the 
same human hearts as other people had ; hearts some- 
times a great deal more tender and lips much more 
reliable than those of many of the multitude who 
spoke of them so flippantly, and w^ho passed them by 
on the other side with such indifference. 

A crowd of other Italian waifs stood around looking 
on. Some of them were the children of parents who 
had once been in good circumstances. Caught in the 
whirl of the revolutions that have at so many differ- 
ent times visited their country, these parents had gone 
11 * 


126 


The Child- Hunters. 


down in the vortex of poverty. All their property had 
been swept away, as with the besom of destruction. 
In the passage of these whirlwinds their families had 
been broken up, in some instances their houses burned 
over their heads, and they reduced to penury and want. 
They and their children had been driven for a precari- 
ous livelihood to the cold charity of the bustling streets. 
In many, many pitiful cases, parents and children had 
been torn ruthlessly asunder, never again to meet on 
earth. Some of these children standing there had not 
seen their parents for years ; and nearly every one of 
the number never expected to see them again. ' 

How soothing, how angelic, how Christ-like, were the 
visits to this afflicted company of signor and madame 
Guccioli ! How often had this aged couple been minis- 
ters of mercy to this hunted flock ! Now, too, came 
the two strangers, on the same blessed errand, and 
moved hj the same good spirit. It was like pouring 
rays of sunshine through the portals of the tomb — or 
the fragrance of sweet flowers in the chambers of the 
sick and dying. 

These poor Italian children were so lonely! They 
seldom played with one another, as happy children 
play in happy homes. They were constantly under 
the servitude of padronism; and never knew what 
unconstrained pleasure really was. Mirth was to them 
almost a total stranger. Mental improvement was a 
thing utterly unknown. From morning to night it 
was drudge, drudge, drudge! From night to morning 
it was sleep out the dark and weary hours, that the 
sleepers, early roused, might be forced to drudge again. 

All around them, in the streets and alleys, in the 
yards and parks, in the market-places and along the 
docks, were strange American children, dressed in a 


The Den Deserted. 


127 


strange garb, and speaking a strange language. From, 
the great houses, with their swell fronts, from the gate- 
ways of tall churches, from the portals of stores, and 
offices, and manufactories, from railway depots and 
piers by the water-side, nearly every one looked on the 
Italian waif with a feeling akin to suspicion, mingled 
slightly with pity and largely with contempt. What 
wonder that such strange children should become the 
early victims of popular vices ; that their wayward feet 
should get entangled in the dark, wild woods of social 
evils ; and that they should speedily drift into the poor- 
house, the prison and the grave ? 

Why is not this cruel captivity of Italian children 
to the Italian padroni at once broken up and forever 
destroyed ? ” 

So asked of themselves these two sons of Italy, as 
they entered this padrone den in the city of New York. 

They soon learned that the padroni would not be 
back until late in the day — perhaps not for all night. 
The possession of ill-gotten money, the earnings wrung 
from the exposure of their unfortunate victims, acting 
on their own idle and vicious habits, had led them into 
dissipation more and more. They were now habitual 
drunkards; and fi'equently spent all the hard earn- 
ings they stole from the children in gambling and its 
kindred vices Signor Guccioli, with his quiet and 
gentle spirit, hinted that the two men might be long 
delayed, and that a good opportunity was thus provi- 
dentially presented their kind visitors for being useful 
to the children. As soon as possible, therefore, the 
stray waifs were gathered together again, and talking 
and singing in the dear old tongue of Italy occupied the 
passing hours. 

“ So, you are from Florence?’’ said the younger of 


128 


The Child-Hunters, 


the two strangers, addressing Lucia and Lorette, as they 
stood side by side. 

“ Yes, signor,” answered Lucia, with a curtesy. 

“In what part of Florence did you live?” he con- 
tinued. 

“0! down close by the Arno, not far from the Bridge 
La Santa TrinitaP 

“ In what house ? ” he asked. 

“ O ! in the Mansion di Lapo, signor.” 

“The Mansion di LapoT^ said he, with a pleased look. 
“ I have been by it many a time ; and once I went in- 
side to examine, as a fine work of art, one of the rose 
windows.” 

“We often admired the beautiful things left by its 
builder,” interposed Lorette, modestly. She was a gen- 
uine lover of art, and had frequently before expressed 
her admiration of the works of the great artist. 

“I used to love to go over to Florence, with my 
uncle, from Naples. I was born in Naples, as I told 
you; and lived before I was stole — I was brought — 
that is — before I came to America, with the old 
family on the hill of the via Romana. Ah ! I know 
Florence well,” said Antoine. 

“O! isn’t that nice?” exclaimed Lucia, enthusias- 
tically interrupting the speaker. Then instantly cor- 
recting herself, she blushed, and remained silent and 
listening. 

“Many a time,” he resumed, not at all displeased 
with the childish interruption, “I have scanned the 
elegant statues on the Bridge La Santa Trinita^ and paid 
my tribute of admiration to the wonderful genius of 
our countryman, Di Lapo.” 

^Our countryman, Di Lapo! ’ how delightfully sounded 
in the ears of these poor wanderers in a foreign land the 


The Den Deserted, 


129 


emphasis laid by their fellow countryman, on these few 
words ! 

“ There were the Grand Galleries, too. I felt when a 
boy I never saw anything like them ; and I have often 
thought the same since then,’^ he said. ^‘Have you 
ever been in Pisa, children ? ” 

‘‘ O ! yes, signor ! ” replied Lucia, with her usual 
alacrity. Then, suddenl}^ checking herself, at a look 
from Lorette, she as quickly added : Only, though, as 
we came through to Leghorn, on our way to America.” 

“That’s the same way I came,” the stranger re- 
sumed, not heeding the momentary confusion of Lucia. 
“Did you notice the Leaning Tower, at Pisa?” he 
asked. 

“O! yes, signor! ” responded Lucia, still loving to be 
the chief speaker on her side. “ Wasn’t it wonderful? 
To think it should be so high, and so heavy, and lean 
so far, and not topple over?” 

“Very wonderful, indeed,” the stranger added. 
“That is what makes the Leaning Tower one of the 
wonders of the world.” 

“ Such a tall tower I ” exclaimed Lucia, for the mo- 
ment forgetting her situation, and the sorrows that 
crushed her down ; “ and such a great circle of pillars, 
and arches, standing out there, all alone. 0 ! how I 
wish I was back there again 1 ” 

“Don’t you want to be there, too?” asked the stran- 
ger of Lorette. 

“Yes, signori” she replied; adding, with unwonted 
emphasis, ''indeed I do I I should like, still more, to be 
back in Florence 1 ” 

“And J, too! ” cried Lucia, as if she, also, had been 
addressed by the stranger’s question. 

“ I am glad to hear you both say so,” he resumed, 
I 


130 


The Child-Hunters, 


with a genial smile. “Perhaps both of you — I hope 
all four of us here now — will be returned some day to 
dear old Italy ! ’’ 

As the young man said this his face glowed with a 
warm flush, while his fine dark Italian eyes shone with 
brilliant lustre. 

“ You must count me in as one of the party ! sud- 
denly exclaimed the senior stranger, moving close up 
to the side of his junior companion. “When brother 
Antoine, here, goes back to our own Italy, I shall cer- 
tainly go with him, if I am alive ! 

“ Yes ! brother, yes ! whenever we return to that well- 
beloved land, we will surely return together — if a kind 
providence so permit.” 

“ Please, signor,” again interrupted Lucia, in her 
eagerness to express the delight she felt in hearing 
more about Italy, in her own tongue, and from such 
agreeable countrymen, “do you think that anybody 
ever lived in the Leaning Tower, at Pisa ? ” 

“ Why, yes,” he replied ; “ there is no doubt that per- 
sons once occupied it, as a temple of a certain class.” 

“ But there don’t anybody live in it, now ? ” 

“Not as permanent inhabitants — only a small com- 
pany of guardians of it, as a world’s curiosity. You 
must know, children, that the Leaning Tower is nearly 
two hundred feet high up in the air. The topmost 
story overhangs the lowest one nearly twenty feet.” 

“ O my ! ” exclaimed Lucia, once more forgetting 
herself in her surprise of pleasure. “ I don’t think I 
should ever like to live in such a leaning-over house — 
indeed I should n’t ! ” 

Thus passed in lively conversation the introduction 
of the strange visitors. It was a pleasant epoch to all 
concerned. 


The Den Deserted, 


131 


There was a look of seriousness on the faces of the 
strangers. It might be said that the elder of the two 
wore a mien of determination that indicated the pres- 
ence in his soul of a solemn and fixed purpose. He 
seated himself on an empty macaroni box, and sent a 
fixed gaze of his black eyes ranging around the room. 
As he glanced from object to object his mental excite- 
ment visibly increased, so that he could retain his seat 
in quiet no longer. He sprang forward with an ener- 
getic bound, as he spoke in Italian : 

“My God!” he exclaimed, with reverent emphasis, 
“is it possible that this is the home of the children of 
Italy, in the Christian city of New York? ” 

His attitude, as he spoke, gave assurance of the wish 
within him that this foul den of infamy and oppression 
might be levelled with the ground, and that the wicked 
system of child-hunting pursued so long by Italian pa- 
droni might perish with it. 

Old signor and madame Guccioli at once perceived 
his emotions, and instinctively divined their purport. 

“ It is, indeed, a dreadful place,” said the veneralde 
and kind-hearted nurse, “ and the signor and I are 
doing what we can. Italian ladies and gentlemen, re- 
siding here in New York, and others in Italy, under the 
sanction and support of the Italian government, are 
doing all that is at present available for these poor fel- 
low-creatures, and others like them. But, ah 1 ” ex- 
claimed the good dame, with a sigh, “ the sufferers are 
so many in number, and the available means are so 
small I ” 

“ We must all do all w^e can ! ” said the youngest vis- 
itor, the warm tears filling and running over from his 
eyes. “Let us remember that we are accepted for 
what we have, and not for what we have not. If we 
do our best, it is the best that we can do.” 


132 


The Child- Hunters. 


Yes ! ” exclaimed the elder, with his hands clinched, 
his teeth firmly set, and his raven eye flashing: “that 
is all right. I will go as far as they who go farthest 
in assuaging the sorrows that are begotten and born 
of the cruel padronism of Italy and America. But, at 
the same time, I am firmly resolved to do all I can to 
dry up the wicked sources of this rolling tide of dis- 
grace and wrong. Stop the fountains from flowing, 
and you dry up the streams.^’ 

“ Amen ! exclaimed the aged signor Guccioli, wdth 
an emphasis unusual with him. The soul of the brave 
old patriot was fairly roused at the manner of his young 
Italian visitor, and he would not restrain the nobler 
impulses of his nature. “ Amen to that, with all my 
heart ! 

The venerable philanthropist spoke as if he had the 
whole Christian and patriotic world at his back. 

With other kindred words of counsel and encourage- 
ment the remainder of the day wore on. Plain refresh- 
ments were brought in from a neighboring bakery, sup- 
plemented with social cups of tea and coflee from the 
friendly inn of the Guccioli’s. The poor, half-starved 
children partook freely, with an unwonted relish.' It 
was a gladsome sight to see them enjoy the cheer so 
abundantly provided. They all ate and drank as they 
had never done before in America. Nor were the sick 
sufferers forgotten, in the general joy. Nice little com- 
forts were discreetly furnished them, and their weary 
hearts were made glad with welcome sounds and 
thoughts of home, far away. The dreary den was 
lighted up with a strange radiance, and filled with the 
innocent merriment of grateful youth and benevolent 
old age. 

A tottering table stood up against the slimy wall. It 


The Den Deserted. 


133 


was near the only, door of the den, and the struggling 
sabbath light that came up the low, dirty alley fell 
dimly upon it. Here the strangers paused. Among 
the low piles of papers and other dusty articles that 
lay scattered upon it, was a rude account-book. It lay 
full open to view. The entries were widely scrawled in 
the Italian and French languages. It was a schedule of 
the daily earnings of the children of the den. The re- 
ceipts on each greasy page, torn, frittered and stained al- 
ternately with the juice and burned with the fires of to- 
bacco, were signed alternately by Vincens and Gambrina. 

From the distorted figures of this dirty volume — all 
the recent entries of which showed that the villains 
must have been drunk when they wrote them down — 
it appeared that the earnings of the victims of the pa- 
droni amounted, for the previous month, to nearly 
seven hundred dollars ! The two most successful chil- 
dren were entered “ 76 ” and “ 77 ” — Lucia and Lorette. 
Their charming Italian ballads had won the way to 
many genuine American hearts ; and the responses 
had been proportionately liberal. At the bottom of 
these expressive figures, that denoted our own hero- 
ines for a given period, was the entry : “ 100 fl. ; 
standing for the generous sum of one hundred florins — 
not one cent of which had these good and gifted little 
artists ever received. A very small stipend of the 
amount was compelled to be paid, as per contract, to 
the merchant, Marina, and the captain, Del Paso, at 
Florence. The parents were cheated the same as their 
children, and received the same — nothing ! 

The senior Italian gentleman scanned this infamous 
padroni account with a scrutinizing eye. He dis- 
covered, at a glance, the utter dishonesty of these 
two scoundrels, in this matter of mon6y receipts, as 
12 


134 


The Child- Hunters, 


he had already found out their inhumanity in other 
ways of treating these helpless children, hunted from 
his own Italy. 

As he read on, from page to page, of the large sums 
that had been earned, through so much suffering, by 
Lucia and Lorette, his manly indignation scarcely 
knew bounds. He felt, on the spur of the moment, 
like tearing the cruel record, wet and red as it was with 
the tears and blood of poor Italian children, and casting 
it into the fire. Then he remembered the work of his 
mission, and that copies he might and would make 
from these villanous transactions would yet be con- 
clusive evidence at the proper time and in the proper 
place. 

Here, before his eyes, was the proof of the violation 
of the solemn and binding obligation which the scoun- 
drel Vincens had made with the unsuspecting parents 
of Lucia and Lorette. Here, too, in another part of the 
same book, written in the French language — of which 
the villain Gambrina was totally ignorant — were other 
entries by Vincens, showing that he was not only 
deliberately cheating the children, and their parents 
and his partners in robbery abroad, but his own fellow 
villain, Gambrina! He actually stole over again the 
hard-earned money of the poor victims of his rascality, 
and jjut two-thirds of the gross amount in his own 
pocket. 

Here, indeed, was a new discovery of the outrageous 
villany of Italian padronism. The young stranger 
stood erect with righteous anger at this table of rob- 
bery, and denounced it, and the whole vile system, 
before high Heaven. From the bottom of his soul he 
invoked the curse of God, and of all the good, to rest 
upon it. 


The Den Deserted. 


135 


He at once called the attention of bis companion, 
who was also, like himself, an accomplished French 
scholar, to these abominable entries, as they held them 
up and scanned them together in the light of that holy 
morning. 

The Gucciolis had told the two strangers all they 
knew, or could tell, of the story of the wrongs of the 
children. But the great record of it was on high. 
Enough was known here on earth, however, to stimu- 
late these and other friends of Italy to renewed exer- 
tions on behalf of her suffering little ones. The two 
strangers were especially interested in Lucia and Lo- 
rette. They listened with deep feeling to the tale of 
their virtual abduction from Florence, and subsequent 
privations in New York. 

‘‘Ah!” said the younger of the visitors, “yours is 
indeed a sad, sad story. But, alas I there are so many 
like it! There is, I hope, deliverance for you, and for 

them, even in this wicked world. Surel/ there is a 
God who judge th in the earth ; and though hand join 
in hand, yet shall not the wicked go unpunished.” 

While the younger visitor was uttering these and 
other words of Christian counsel and encouragement to 
the children, the elder one had seized the ink-daubed 
pen from the cracked and dust-covered stand on the 
table, and smoothing down as best he could a rumpled 
page of the blank account-book of the padroni, he 
wrote as follows : 

[Translation.! 

“City of New York, U. S. A., 
June 3d, 18 — . 

“ To Marco Vincens and Bruta Gambrina : 

Italian padroni; — I am an Italian. I know you 
both. Marco Vincens! I know you especially. We 
met more than once in Italy. We have met, since 

then, in America. Should we never meet again in this 


136 


The Child- Hunters, 


world — for we may not, as your crimes may soon cut 
you off in your guilty career — I will appear as a swift 
witness against you, face to face, in the dread world to 
come. 

“I was by your side, Vincens, as a disguised attend- 
ant, when you took on your soul that dark vow to return 
to the captain del Paso his share of the earnings of 
these poor children he helped you to seduce from their 
parents in Florence. Yes ! I was there, Vincens, though 
you knew it not, in those mysterious vaults of the cathe- 
dral di Santa Maria. I was the guide, without your know- 
ledge, who conducted you to the secluded spot where 
you took your awful oath. No one but the Great Un- 
seen knew that I was there at that moment. 

“ I was present, as a secret guest, at the drunken car- 
nival in the house of the merchant Marina, in Florence, 
when you bound your soul by such an oath as only 
such an artful villain and miser as he could frame and 
impose on his fellow-man. 

“ Marco Vincens ! How have you kept that oath to 
pay back the money Marina advanced for the outfit 
and passage of the two children, Lucia and Lorette? 
Remember i> you must answer this question to your 
God ! Above all,' how shamefully, how cruelly, have 
you robbed these and other unprotected children of 
Italy ! 

“ Infamous man! In this book is the record of your 
villany. Think not that you can escape the copy that 
has now been taken, in the name of justice. 

“ In the same ship in which you came as an emigrant 
from Leghorn, with that helpless brood of Italian chil- 
dren completely in your wicked power, I came, in the 
garb of the calling of my honored father — that of a 
sailor. You did not know me; but full well I knew 
you, and always closely watched you. I had made a 
solemn promise, at a holy altar, that I would do so. 
Faithfully I have kept that sacred vow, hitherto ; I 
shall so keep it to the end I 

“I have known of your treachery, Vincens! to these 
wandering waifs, here in America. Now I liave proof 
of your rascality to your own vile partners in iniamy. 
Think not, for one moment, that you can or will escape. 


The Den Deserted. 


137 


There is an Alini.!L(hty Power above that forever controls 
you. Mark Vincens ! mark it well. 

“ It was my voice that .startled you from the unseen 
perch in the gallery over the old entrance of Castle 
Garden. You remember how I then and there re- 
minded you of your bargains to sell the earnings of 
these hunted little ones to the sly captain, and the 
gambling merchant at Florence. You cannot have 
forgotten it. 

“Another vile partner of your guilt is here — the 
atrocious Bruta Gambrina. He, too, is well known 
among the administrators of justice in Italy, and is 
wanted there. His disguise is not sufficient to cover 
up his dark deeds. He is sure, finally, of detection 
and ])unishment. 

“You two villains have gone to the graveyard, to 
la}^ in the silent dust there your murdered victim — the 
almost infant Jose Maria Aquila. But the blood of 
that dead child, like the blood of Abel to Cain, will 
cr}^ out against you from the ground! 

“ Padroni I both of you look on the opposite wall I 
Read there the inscription you cannot fail to under- 
stand ; the sentence of your own doom 1 

“ You may rub out that line from before human eyes ; 
but it is written, as with a finger of fire, on your own 
guilty consciences ; it is indelibly engraved by the re- 
cording angel in the judgment-book of God ! 

“ Since I first took upon me the vow of the Carbonari, 
I have become, I humbly hope, a sincere Christian. It 
is in the spirit of Christ I am now carrying that stern 
vow into execution. 

“ ^Vengeance is Mine ; I ivill repay, saitli the LordJ 

“In the name of the holy God, padroni! I call on 
you, here and now, to give up your wicked practice of 
hunting and enslaving Italian children. 

“The traffic and dens of the Italian padroni must 
and shall be destroyed. 

“ One of the Carbonari.’' 

Below this fearful indictment, written also in Italian, 
in a less bold but evidently equall}^ firm hand, was this 
additional note. It bore the same date : 

12 * 


138 


The Child- Hunters. 


Padroni! The writer of these lines accompanied 
the writer of the above to yonr horrid den. 

“ All that he has here expressed, I most fully indorse. 

‘‘Our hands and hearts are linked inseparably to- 
gether in the good work of abolishing forever every 
vestige of Italian padronism. 

“ I, too, know what your detestable calling is in Italy. 
I know what it is in America. It is doomed by the 
Christianity of the world, and cannot much longer sur- 
vive. 

“ May it never have a resurrection ! 

“Antoine Rosselli Lafarge. 

“ Once a hunted Italian child, and held captive for years 
by padrone Alphonso Caruso 

The inscription on the opposite wall of the den, 
referred to by the first writer, was in these words, in 
Italian : 


“VENGEANCE TO THE WOLVES THAT 
DEVOUR THE LAMBS!” 


This is the motto of the Carbonari, a patriotic society 
of Italy. Deep black lines were drawn around it. The 
words were printed in characteristic bold Roman capi- 
tals. 

The strangers departed from the den. Just as they 
were passing out, the elder one reached up over the 
table and snatched rapidly down the likeness of Gari- 
baldi, that had been hanging on the wall. For a mo- 
ment he held it, at arm’s length, in both hands, gazing 
intently upon it, as the warm tears gushed from his 
fixed eyes. Then carefully removing the picture, he 
hung the frame back in its place on the wall, legibly 
tracing these Italian words on the back : 


The Den Deserted. 


189 


NO PLACE 

IN A 

PADRONI DEN 

FOR A I 

LIKENESS 

OF 

GARIBALDI. 

^ — Hb 

Lying on the account-book, in a sealed envelope, 
bearing, in miniature, the arms of Italy, was the exact 
cost of the picture, in current American money. With 
a respectful adieu to the good old couple, signor Guc- 
cioli and madame Guccioli, and after being repeatedly 
curtesied to by the girls, and as repeatedl}^ cheered by 
the boys, the strangers withdrew from the den. 

As soon as everything was as well arranged as in 
such a place it could be, the Gucciolis kissed the chil- 
dren good-night, and withdrew to their homes — leav- 
ing the den to its wonted night darkness, its sighs, its 
silence and its tears. 


1 

" 




CHAPTEK XIL 

THE PARTNERS IN ITALY. 


He that has light within his own clear breast, 

May sit i’the centre, and enjoy bright day; 

But he who hides a dark soul and foul thoughts. 
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun ; 

Himself is his own dungeon. 

Milton. 

T WO years have now passed away. We are once 
more back in Italy. 

The price of blood had been paid, drop by drop, to 
Marina. Much the greater part, even of this, had been 
withheld by the thieves, Vincens and Gambrina. Their 
promised remittances from New York to Florence had 
become few and far between ; and of these but the 
merest pittances ever reached the families at the Man- 
sion di Lapo. All that Marina could take he greedily 
took, and held with a keen miser’s grasp. The waifs 
had nothing; the parents had next to nothing; the 
merchant and the captain were cheated, as much as it 
was possible for such shrewd characters to be. All the 
rest of the rich ill-gotten gains the unprincipled pa- 
droni took to themselves. The means for many a 
drunken bout, many a gambling fracas, this plundered 
child-money supplied. No wonder such wretches as 
Vincens and Gambrina were exasperated at its loss; no 
wonder they should whip to death the poor, weak child, 

140 


The Partners in Italy, 141 

Jose Maria, when they thought he withheld a part 
of it. 

Mrs. Garcia, during the last trying year, had been 
sinking more and more deeply in the vortex of drunk- 
enness and kindred dissipation. Her now frequent 
indulgences w^ere telling sadly on her habits and health. 
She had growm habitually neglectful of her himily, and 
w^as frequently away from home. She had become 
sullen, 'peevish and morose. Her husband was an 
object of her especial dislike, which she did not hesitate 
to manifest on frequent occasions. He, in turn, sought 
to drowm his chagrin and anger in deep libations of the 
poisonous bowd. The son, still a sailor at sea, had 
ceased to make any reports of his whereabouts, or to 
show by messages of any kind that he took any interest 
in his father, or mother, or the rest of the household. 
From the intemperate course of his parents the 
younger son, at home, had learned to love the intoxi- 
cating cup — the deadliest bane of Italy. As for Lucia 
they scarcely knew where she was, or whether she were 
alive or dead. 

Is it any wonder that these people went astray? 
Victims of the twin evils of ignorance and superstition, 
enveloped in clouds of darkness and delusion, they 
were the easy dupes of the wicked and designing. 
How could even affectionate and careful parents be 
sure of protecting their lambs against the w’olves that 
were constantly and everywhere prowling about, seek- 
ing to devour them? How much less were tender 
flocks to be protected, when parents were themselves 
deformed to ravenous beasts, made drunk and furious 
by the demon of strong drink ? What victims bound 
on the altar of padronism, for human sacrifice, do such 
parents become ! When shall the Christianity and 


142 


The Child- Hunters, 


civilization of the world tear this hideous altar down, 
and thus cause these fearful sacrifices to be known no 
more but in the sad memories of the past ? 

Manuel and Marguerite Garcia had now spent nearly 
all of their small earnings. Their dissipations had re- 
duced them to beggary. 

Alas ! this guilty couple were yet in the strong fetters 
of bondage and vice. Their souls had not yet been 
emancipated by the illuminating torch that is now 
penetrating beautiful Italy. True education had not 
reached the classic halls of the old and splendid man- 
sion in which they were the humble and degraded 
tenants. Like many other Italians they lived on the 
fallen glories of the past. They did not reach forth 
to the noble aspirations of the present and the holy 
promises of the future. As Koman ages had done 
before them they revelled in indulgence and rioted in 
excess. 

Surely, it is no wonder they continued in the vassal- 
age of padronism, and that their children were hunted 
through the world. 

Thus deluded, thus waylaid in the voyage of life, 
these poor dupes of ignorance and slavery were drift- 
ing on hopeless wrecks to the great ocean of eternity. 

One evening, as the two families were sitting and 
chatting together at Di Lapo, a stranger entered. They 
were in the front room of the Garcias. He had come in 
quietly, and unannounced. By some means, unknown 
to any of the little circle present, he had become well 
acquainted with the personal history of the two fami- 
lies. He knew the names of the parents, and of their 
children. He was aware of the absence of Lucia and 
Lorette in America. He had become specially inter- 
ested in the progress — small as it really was — which 


The Partners in Italy. 143 

the Ferenzas had made in the ways of a living Christian 
faith. 

There was something in the appearance of this 
stranger that at once won its way to the confidence 
of all in the room. His look was so benignant, his 
bearing was so much that of the perfect gentleman, 
his tone was so spiritual and yet so cheerful, that every 
one present immediately felt that he was a person in 
whom it was safe to confide. 

In appearance he was large and commanding; a 
little above the ordinary stature, with an erect form, 
broad shoulders, and a large, round head; with a 
pleasant mouth, and full, clear, expressive eyes. The 
face was indicative of mingled firmness and gentleness, 
and wore a look of genial vivacity, that might at 
times be expected to broaden into a flow of humor. 
His hair was not thick, but smooth, and adjusted with 
good taste over his fine-cut forehead. 

Immediately he had entered and taken a calm survey 
of the room, its surroundings and inmates, all the com- 
pany rose as if impelled by a common impulse. 

Be seated, friends,” he said, in a quiet, self-collected 
tone of voice, at the same time laying his hat, gloves 
and cane on a contiguous table. This is not a visit of 
ceremony,” he continued, in the same placid tone ; “ it 
is simply a friendly call. I am happy to see 5^011 all 
here together. A mutual friend of yours and mine 
has prepared the way for me to introduce myself to 
you on this occasion. I refer to a Christian lady, from 
the United States of America, who informed me of 
her having given one of the children of one of your 
families a little American religious book, printed in 
Italian.” 

“0 ! it was Lorette! ” exclaimed Mrs. Ferenza, rising 
with a curtesy, and a face beaming with pleasure, 


144 


The Child- Hunters, 


‘‘The same,” he replied. “Lorette Ferenza. Your 
daughter, I presume?” 

“Yes, signor,” Mrs. Ferenza responded, rising and 
curtesy in g again. 

“ We ’re glad to see you, father,” interrupted Mr. 
Ferenza, “ with news from our dear Lorette. We are 
always glad to meet with those who have seen our 
well-beloved child.” 

“You mistake, my friends, in two particulars. You 
mistake in addressing me as ‘father.’ I am not now a 
priest — in the sense in which you regard the priest- 
hood — although I once was. Neither have I seen your 
daughter; though I recently met with those who have.” 

“ What, signor ! ” quickly broke in Mrs. Ferenza, 
“seen her in America?” 

“Yes, signora! seen her in the city of New York 1 ” 
the stranger slowly responded. “Yes; as well — as — 
could be expected — away from home,” was the gentle 
reply. 

There was something in the tone of the stranger 
that touched the hearts of all who listened — especially 
those of Mr. and Mrs. Ferenza. 

The visitor discovered that he was treading on tender 
ground, and that his steps required the utmost caution. 

“ I am fi om France,” he continued, as he took the 
proffered seat, and modulated his voice differently; 
“although I am familiar with all parts of Italy. I 
have, also, had the pleasure of being in America, not 
long ago; although I was not so — happy — ” here the 
stranger paused a brief moment — “as to see either of 
your children there.” 

A look of disappointment passed over the features 
of the parents; but, with true Italian courtesy, they 
listened with characteristic Italian re spect to what fur- 
tuer he had to say. 




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The Partners in Italy. 


145 


As he rose from his chair, and, removing his hat and 
cane, was about taking his departure, Mr. Ferenza ad- 
vanced toward the kind visitor, and said politely : 

“ Come again and see us, signor. Please come again.” 

Yes, signor,” added Mrs. Ferenza, with a fond ma- 
ternal sigh ; we shall be so glad to hear all you can 
tell us from our dear child in America.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Garcia said nothing. Conscious guilt 
and hypocrisy kept them dumb. 

I certainly shall look carefully after all the children 
of Italy, whenever and wherever I can,” replied the 
stranger, with a benignant look of Christian concern. 
“Italy, like France, my own beloved country, has 
many suffering wanderers over the face of the earth. 
It is a great pleasure to know that the great Father of 
us all cares for them all. I have confidence to believe 
that the official representatives of the Italian govern- 
ment in America will do their duty in this important 
national concern. To my certain knowledge there are 
Italian merchants, and others, in the United States, who 
are closely watching the infamous system of padronism. 
It must be broken up! ” added he, with marked empha- 
sis. “ Good-bye, dear friends. You shall hear from me 
again. Here is my card.” 

The stranger departed. As the door of the ancient 
Mansion di Lapo closed upon him, the little company 
left behind gathered in the dim light of the classic win- 
dow, and read the following name : 



13 


CHAPTEK XIIL 

END OF GAMBRINA. 


‘ Though hand join in hand, yet shall not the wicked go un- 
punished/ — Holy Writ. 

A t the appointed hour, the padroni, Vincens and 
Gambrina, started out from their den to bury the 
dead boy — Jose Maria. The place of burial was in a 
retired graveyard across the East River. Their suspi- 
cious and wary natures led them to take every neces- 
sary precaution to secure the interment of the body 
according to law. 

With characteristic cunning, they stopped, on their 
way to the ferry, at one of their old haunts,— an Italian 
pawnbroker’s shop, — and trimmed their battered hats 
wdth dirty strips of dingy black crape. 

Hypocritical mourners ! The rude black coffin that 
the authorities allowed them to bear together to the 
grave, was accompanied by the semblance of funeral 
gear. So these atrocious villains supplied the place of 
their greasy slouched caps with shabby-genteel second- 
hand hats, around which they tied long strips of sec- 
ond-hand black stuff, that ostentatiously trailed over 
their bent-up shoulders down their backs. 

Thus equipped, and with that hang-dog look which 
adepts in murderous deeds know so well how to assume, 
they launched out into the sabbath streets, and steered 
for the nearest ferry.. 


146 


End of Gamhrina. 


147 


They were not long in reaching the ferry-boat. But 
as it had just left the dock for the other side of the river, 
an excuse was afforded for slily entering one of the 
many drink-hells infesting that part of New York. 
The one they entered was kept by a swarthy Italian, 
who knew these and all other padroni well. He was 
an expert in ministering to their base passions.' Know- 
ing how easily these consummate scoundrels wrung 
all their money from helpless Italian children, this 
kindred villain had a kind of infernal satisfaction in 
getting all he could of it from them, easier still. What 
they extorted from the poor children by fraud and 
cruelty, in their den, the liquor-seller still more cun- 
ningly abstracted from them by the fraud and deceit of 
his bar. Drinking and gambling were his forte ; and 
most skilfully and most successfully he plied his devilish 
arts. 

It was in such fastnesses of guilt as these that the Ital- 
ian child-hunters were at bay. Here, in the secrecy 
of dark screens, and within closely-folding doors, they 
doled out in games of chance the earnings and gifts of 
their deluded prey. The more the children gained, 
through their much suffering, in streets and parks, the 
more the padroni had to squander in gambling-hells. 
The more the gamblers lost at play, the more they 
forced the children on in their paths of hunger and 
privation ; the more they tortured and robbed them. 

How many offerings made to these pitiful children 
in the thoroughfares of the great cities of the world, go 
into the tills of the gamblers, and the dealers in strong 
drinks! Many a heartless blow had wrung money 
from the wandering musicians, that was being squan- 
dered in these purlieus of drunkenness and gambling. 
The pilfers on these gaming-tables, and on the count- 


148 


The Child- Hunters, 


ers of these bars, were all wet with the tears and red 
with the blood of hunted and slaughtered children. 

So the padroni at once brought out their cards and 
dice, and the bar-tender supplied them with his burn- 
ing draughts. So the cards shuffled, and the dice rat- 
tled, while hunted children hungered and thirsted for 
food and drink; shivered in the cold, fevered in the 
heat, sank down and died. 

The padroni stood up in his coffin, cold and stark, the 
corpse of Jose Maria. The little child was scarcely 
noticed in the dark corner, for the pine box that held 
him was black, like the panel of the room, with garish 
paint. A silent witness within those coarse boards, he 
could suffer no more at the bloody hands of Italian pa- 
droni. The little fingers of the young violinist were 
moveless now; but they will be lifted up to testify 
against those murderers before the bar of the Judg- 
ment Day. The soft voice was still now; but it will 
speak out, in thunder tones, when summoned to bear 
its record before the Judge of the quick and the dead. 
The soft, blue eyes were closed now ; but they will open 
wide, as the light of eternity shall shine upon them ; 
and they shall look, face to face, on their atrocious 
Italian padroni, whose cruel hands had set them with 
the cold seal of the grave. 

Poor little Jose Maria! No more hungering; no 
more thirsting; no more filthy rags; no more pallet 
of straw; no more cold winter storms; no more fierce 
summer heats ; no more cruel scourgings ; no more 
sickness ; no more death. 

It was meet that these drunken murderers of childish 
innocence, these gambling assassins of helpless waifs, 
should drink and gamble in the coffined presence of the 
boy they had slain. So the drinking and gaming went 


End of Gamhrina, 


149 . 


on, through all the morning of that holy day. The 
sabbath-bell called to the worship of God ; but it was 
no call to them. They heeded it not. The cards 
shuffled; the dice rattled; the cup poured; and yet 
they had not left the margin of the ferry; yet they 
were no nearer to the burial-ground. 

At last, now nearly if not quite drunk, and scarcely 
able to stand, the padroni sallied out of the grog-shop 
with the corpse of their victim. They placed the coffin 
near the door of the cabin, at the far end of the ferry- 
boat. At the foot sat Vincens ; at the head, Gambrina. 

As the bow of the ferry-boat touched the dock, they 
both rose from their seats, seized the corpse, and stag- 
gered through the doorway to the landing platform. 
The boat was yet some feet from the wharf. The water 
of the dock, stirred up by the paddles, was lashed into 
foam, and the waves tossed the vessel up and down 
with an unsteady motion, as the passengers made the 
usual rush for the shore. In the crowd the padroni 
were urged along, still holding on the coffin. Being too 
drunk to recover themselves they both reeled over, 
and plunged headlong into the boiling water. 

“ Men overboard ! ’’ the cry sounded. ‘‘ Back the 
boat ! Back her ! ” 

As soon as possible the wheels were reversed, and the 
vessel moved out from the dock. 

Too late! The two men sank like lead out of sight. 
The paddles passed over them, and not a struggle was 
seen, not a sound was heard, where they had both gone 
down in the vortex. The filth and slime stirred up 
from the depths of the dock whirled on above them, 
and still they rose not. 

In an instant more the eddy brought them to the 
surface, whirling by the side of the slippery piles. 

13 * 


150 


The Child- Hunters, 


There was no hold for them, even if they had been 
sober enough to stretch out to it. There was no way 
of reaching down, in such a raging mass of waves, to 
give them succor. 

As they swept rapidly by on the bubbling, hissing 
torrent, Gambrina was seen for a moment, frantically 
lifting up his hands, in one of which he held the black 
iron handle that he had wrenched from the coffin as 
he fell overboard. Vincens next appeared, a few feet 
from him, struggling violently in the foam, and gasping 
with the last convulsive efforts of a drowning man. 
All in vain! The retreating boat carried them both 
out of the dock, to where the strong current of the ' 
passing river was sweeping on to sea. Here the eddy 
seized them both, and held them writhing at the 
corner of the slippery pier, and then whirled them 
to and fro, as if they were in the grip of an execu- 
tioner, who was wreaking vengeance upon them. A 
boat-hook in the strong hands of a sailor, near by, 
caught Vincens by the collar, and dragged him to 
the dock; but Gambrina, swept off by an incoming 
surge, sank to rise no more. 

The coffin, by a sudden motion of the boat, had been 
saved from falling over. A police-officer, standing by, 
took possession of it, and removed it to a private room 
at the ferry-house. Here it was safely deposited, and 
guarded, waiting for further inquiries. 

The hand of God still cared for the murdered lad. 
By a mysterious circumstance, a card had been attached 
to the coffin, in some unexplained manner, containing, 
in rude, but plain English, the name and address of 
the good old signor Guccioli. 

Providentially, one of the police-officers present — 
among whom, especially in Brooklyn, there are so 


End of Gamhrina. 


151 


many worthy men — took cliarge of the coflin. In due 
time it was removed to the hospitable home of the Guc- 
ciolis. Here, as the children of the padroni den gath- 
ered fondly around it, and other children of the Italian 
Mission School united with them, the murdered little 
waif had a Christian funeral. He was followed to his 
humble grave by a company of as sincere mourners as 
ever walked the earth ; and received, what the poor 
child so well deserved, a becoming Christian burial. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

END OF VINCENS AND THE DEN 

He wlio will fight the devil at his own weapon, must not 
wonder if he find him an overmatch. — South. 

T he drowning of Gambrina sobered Vincens. A 
Brooklyn policeman took him in charge. 

Confused and stupid as he was, he could still give an 
account of his name and residence. With his usual 
consummate cunning, he fabricated a story with regard 
to his being found in possession of a corpse. 

The officer forthwith proceeded with the culprit back 
to New York. He stopped sufficiently long at the 
ferry-holise fire to dry the guilty and trembling wretch, 
who was scarcely able to walk. 

The way to the den was easily travelled, however, 
and here the policeman left his villanous charge. But 
Vincens was still the same miserable slave as ever. He 
crept back to the den with the same horrid purposes 
in his dark soul, hungering and thirsting^as much as 
ever for the gratification of the wickedness of padron- 
ism. 

The hour was late, when, after having indulged again 
in drinks at a neighboring bar-room, this abandoned 
man sought the gloom and seclusion of the den. 
The place was in total darkness. The children, as 
might be expected, were all present. Not one of them, 
indeed, ever dared to be absent. The day had been 

152 


End of Vincens and the Den, 153 

to them one of extraordinary pleasure ; and after the 
kind words of signor and madame Giiccioli they had 
retired with unusual cheerfulness to their dingy beds. 

In the midst of the darkness, Yincens might be dimly 
seen groping in a drunken stupor blindly about, mut- 
tering incoherently to himself : 

“ Gambrina ’s gone, eh ? Well ! Let him go ! Who 
cares ? I sha’n’t try to find him 1 Eh ? At the bottom 
of the river, eh ? Fishes get him, eh ? Ugh ! ” 

So he mumbled on to himself, stumbling and stagger- 
ing around the den in the dark. 

Coming across the stump of one of his cast-off cigars, 
he fumbled in his ragged pocket and found a match. 
Lighting it, and giving as many rapid puffs as his 
limited breath would allow, he proceeded to the old 
shattered ruins of his kerosene lamp, and, after repeated 
drunken trials, succeeded in lighting that. By the 
flickering glare that fell in uncertain flashes around he 
reeled up to the table near the door. Here the first ob- 
ject that met his bewildered gaze was the inscription 
left on the wall overhead by the two Italian strangers : 

“To Marco Vincens 

AND 

“ Bruta Gambrina, 

“ Italian Padroni: 


“VENGEANCE TO THE WOLVES THAT 
DEVOUR THE LAMBS 


For some moments the cold villain stood transfixed 
to the spot. Then his trembling eye caught the signa- 
ture below, that had hitherto escaped him : 

“One of the Carbonari.” 


154 


The Child- Hunters, 


At sight of this he burst out in uncontrollable rage: 

^“Ganibrina/ eh? No ‘Gambrina’ here! Gone down 
the harbor! Fishes eat him up! Ugh! ^ One of the 
Carbonari V Who cares for the Carbonari ? Eh? ‘He 
watch — s me?^ Eh? Let him watch! Who cares? 
Eh?” 

Then he hurried through the mysterious writing in 
the account-hook, angrily exclaiming to himself : 

“ Eh ? What ’s this ? Who ’s been here ? Who 's been 
writing in my book ? Eh ? ” 

Snatching up the memorandum, that he thought had 
been kept so secret, and seeing that it had all been read 
and computed by a French scholar, his rage knew no 
bounds. With an hysterical laugh, he burst out again? 

“Ha! ha! ha! Spy of old Marina? So! so! Spy 
of sly signor — captain del Paso ? Ha ! ha ! Let them 
come on ! They ’ll find that ‘ wolves ’ have sharp teeth ! 
These Carbonari think they’re mighty smart people! 
P’haps we’ll show ’em padroni great deal smarter! 
Ha ! My ancestors hav’n’t trafficked in Italian children 
two hundred years for nothing! Eh? Ha! ha! ” 

But the guilty wretch trembled all over from head to 
foot, as he muttered these fearful maledictions. He 
felt in his soul that the avenger of blood was on his 
track, and that there was no city of refuge to which he 
could flee. 

With a hurried Jiand he put down the lamp, and 
I glared around the room, on the still sleeping children. 
The poor creatures were tossing to and fro in their un- 
easy slumbers ; but not one of them awoke sufficiently 
to occupy his attention enough to be even cursed by 
him. He was almost too drunk for that, and quite too 
busy with other wicked thoughts. 

“A// here ! ” he went on muttering to himself. “ All 


End of Vincens and the Den. 155 

here, but — one — but — two — eh ? Neither one of ’em 
much missed! Eh? Ha! ha! As for the little brat, 
he ’s not worth counting, any how ! Eh ? Where ’s my 
jolly black bottle? Anything left in ’t, I wonder? 
Let ’s try it, and see ! ” 

Reaching over among the piles of rag% and search- 
ing in the dim light, he snatched the coveted article, 
which yet held a supply of the deadly liquor, and 
drank off every drop, without taking the neck of the 
bottle from his mouth. 

With the lighted lamp in his hand the miserable 
drunkard had sunk down in a torrent of blasphemy, 
and was soon loudly snoring. But the fountain of re- 
morse was broken up from its dark deeps within his 
guilty soul. He rolled and tumbled frantically about, 
gesticulating and muttering madly to himself, with the 
desperation of despair. He was like a chained spirit, 
already suffering the tortures of the damned. 

In one of his most violent contortions he had over- 
set the lamp beside him. It exploded ! The den was 
on fire! 

Wakened by the stifling smoke the poor group of 
waifs rose in alarm, and rushed for the only door. 
Scarcely had the last little frightened creature reached 
the alley and escaped, accompanied by the wild mon- 
key, to the street, ere the whole piles of rags, and other 
inflammable material, were a mass of blaze. The kero- 
sene-lamp explosion had scattered fire all around. In 
an instant everything within reach was blazing with 
fiery heat. 

But there lay the dying padrone. Too stupid to rise 
up, bewildered by the suddenness of the danger, losing 
all presence of mind in the guilty horror that was upon 
him, he rolled over helpless into the centre of the burn- 


156 


Ihe Child- Hunters, 


ing fluids, until the whale of him was saturated with 
kerosene and poison, and kindled into flame — a 
drunkard all on fire ! 

The conflagration spread with the rapidity of light- 
ning. At that late hour the neighbors had all retired. 
The solitary watchman was at the moment off his beat. 
The waifs were too terrified to give any alarm that 
could reach any distance from the spot. The cries of 
children were so familiar in that noisy neighborhood, 
they were seldom noticed by the neighbors, or by pass- 
ing strangers. 

It was, therefore, some time before any considerable 
alarm was given ; and when the nearest fire company 
arrived on the spot, the flames had spread too far to be 
arrested. Everything in the horrid padroni den was 
swept down before them. In a few swift moments, 
nothing remained of the infamous ruin but a dirty 
heap of ashes. 

During the height of the fire Vincens was observed 
through the smoke to be making his blind way, reeling 
and staggering, toward the table where his book of ac- 
count was deposited. It appeared that he had been 
striving to get possession of this recorded proof of his 
long-continued career of crime. At this spot, where 
the fragments of the book were found, his skeleton, all 
blackened and charred, lay crouched up in distorted 
masses ; as if his dying agonies had been fearful in the 
extreme. By a mysterious coincidence, the place where 
the murderer perished in the flames, was the very one 
where Gambrina had just whipped to death the poor 
little victim of Italian padronism — Jose Maria Aquila! 

It was the speedy fulfilment of the prophecy : 

‘ Vengeance to the wolves that devour the lambs I ^ 

‘ Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lokd ; I will repay.* 


CHAPTER XV. 

A FOLD IN THE WEST OF AMERICA. 


Theirs are the joys of nature ; theirs the smile, 

The cherub smile of innocence and peace; 

Sorrow is shorn; and when their tears are shed, 

They wipe them soon. 

Knox. 

T here was welcome home for these outcast Italian 
children in the house of the Gucciolis. Here 
they found a safe shelter from the outrages of padron- 
ism. 

“ Come with us, all of you children,” said the good 
old couple, after the fire. 

There were thirteen of them, in all. 

As the morning broke along a cold and dirty street 
of New York, this little colony of charity entered the 
doors of the hospitable dwelling provided for them. 
They had often, separately, and in companies of twos 
and fours, entered it before ; but never had they come 
in such a company, nor with such sighs and tears of 
relief, as they came now. 

A warm, hearty breakfast was soon ready for them, 
of which they every one partook, with an appetite and 
relish it was delightful to witness. 

“ Now,” said signor Guccioli, with a pleasant smile, 
^‘you must all be good children. We will take care of 
you all, as well as we can. Pretty soon, I suppose, the 
padroni will be around here, to look after you.” 

14 157 


158 


The Child- Hunters, 


“ Please, signor,” replied one of the oldest boys, with 
a sober look, padroni won’t have nothin’ to do with 
us, no more.” 

“ How ’s that? ” inquired the good old man. 

Wh 3 % please, signor, they ’s both got burnt up in the 
fire at the den 1 ” 

The children had not then learned of the manner of 
the death of padrone Gambrina, They supposed that 
he, too, had perished in the flames with Vincens. 

“ What an awful end of such wicked men ! ” exclaimed 
the old signor. “ Surely, sooner or later vengeance will 
overtake the wolves that devour the lambs ! So long 
as there is an Italian on earth worthy of the name, 
who has the means at command, the worthy children 
of Italy shall never want for any good thing. Italian 
Mission Schools will always be among the best monu- 
ments to Italy on American shores. Let us thank 
God, and take courage,” concluded this Italian patri- 
arch. 

And let all people say Amen ! ” 

But this kind Christian pair did not stop with songs 
and exhortations. They gave food to the hungry, and 
drink to the thirsty, and clothing to the naked, as 
well as spiritual instruction to the mind. Their plan 
was to give these Italian waifs not only a good home, 
and sound instruction, and religious training, but to 
see that they all learned useful trades. The genius of 
Italy for music and the arts was as usual developed 
among them, and needed only encouragement to be 
brought out and led to success. 

To this benevolent end, these judicious Italian phil- 
anthropists turned their careful attention to the great 
West of America. 

There was a man of their acquaintance who lived in 


A Fold in the West of America. 


159 


one of the Western states. He was a man they knew 
well. They had perfect confidence in his integrity of 
character, and sound judgment in business. He was 
accustomed to find homes for children in the rich and 
healthful prairie land. Whenever he came to New 
York, he was sure to call at the Guccioli homestead, 
and report progress to them of his philanthropic mission. 
The venerable couple had always some word of cheer 
to offer, with an occasional new child, who had been 
rescued from the slums of New York. 

The name of this man from the West was Granger. 
They called him Farmer Granger ; though his real 
name was Mr. Hardy Granger, a genuine representative 
of Western American intelligence and patriotism. He 
had been the bearer, repeatedly, of letters to signor 
Guccioli, requesting him to commend children to the 
writers, that they might be furnished with good West- 
ern homes, and learn to be American citizens, on farms 
or at trades. 

How delightful was this aspect of life, with its new 
enjoyments and pursuits, to these victims of the Italian 
padroni! It was like coming out of the cold, dark, 
dusty tomb into the genial and sunny light of day. 

The effect on the children was most curious. They 
seemed to know not how to understand it, or what 
to do. 

Lucia and Lorette were among the first to adapt 
themselves to their new situations. They not only saw 
the fold to which they were directed, and were ready 
to enter it, but their religious training by the Gucciolis 
led them to listen to the voice of the Good Shepherd, 
from within. 

It was beautiful to see these tender lambs, so long 
hunted and driven, cold, wet and hungry, on the dark 


IGO 


The Child- Hunters, 


and rugged mountains, now entering the quiet and 
peaceful fold of Christian sympathy and patriotic pro- 
tection. 

Little thought Samaria’s daughter, 

On that ne’er forgotten day. 

That the gentle Shepherd sought her, 

As a sheep astray. 

Outcasts from the great world ; waifs floating on the 
busy current of humanity ; forsaken by or torn from 
both fathers and mothers; looked down upon, often, 
as beggars and thieves, only to be shunned and despised ; 
who should wonder that our city children, of this class, 
sink into the sloughs of neglect, and miserably perish 
in dens of infamy ? 

But the Good Shepherd saw them. He took them 
by the hand. He put it in the hearts of His faithful 
people to care for them, even as a loving shepherd 
careth for his lambs. 




162 


The Child-Hunters, 


Before they started on their journey the two girls 
took old Mr. Guccioli and Mr. Granger with them, and 
went down to Castle Garden. Here was the place of 
their first landing in New York. They passed together 
through this House of the Emigrants. It was here these 
children took their first draughts of the bitter cup of 
padronism. How changed the scene since then ! Their 
wicked oppressors, the padroni, were both dead; the 
den in which they had suffered so much was burned to 
the ground; and now the great West was opening its 
friendly arms to receive them to Christian homes. It 
was like a dream ; and yet they found it to be a present 
and sweet reality. 

The little company paused in silence at the ruins of 
the den — not yet rebuilt. How thankful were those 
young hearts as they stood on that memorable spot! 
With sighs of relief, and tears of gratitude, they turned 
silently away. 

It was but a short walk from there to the Italian 
Mission Industrial School The children were assem- 
bled, at the time, all being taught the rudiments of 
a useful education. The scene was delightful. There 
were no padroni there I 

After a sweet song, in an Italian tune, which Lucia 
and Lorette at once recognized with pleasure, Mr. 
Granger was invited to address the school : 

“Little children,” said he, in his quaint way, “yes, 
and you bigger children, too — I ^m a farmer, from way 
out West. I live on what is called the perrairie-land, 
when I ^m to hum. The ground around my house, and, 
for the matter of that, for miles away off on the per- 
rarie, is e’en a most as level as this floor. It ’s a won- 
derful great country, children; and ever so much 
ground lyin’ out o’ doors. There ain’t no need of chil- 






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In their New Home, 


163 


dren bein’ stived up in close cities and towns, or runnin’ 
the risk of bein’ hunted and stolen, while there ’s such 
a plenty of good land out West to be had for next to 
nothin’ by anybody who will come and live on it, and 
w^ork on it, as they ought to. There ’s the sweet air, 
for you, children; an’ plenty on’t, too! An’, for the 
matter o’ that, for your fathers’, an’ your mothers’ an’ 
all the rest. These two little gals, here, is agoin’ out 
West with me; an’ I’ve good, nice homes for ’em; all 
ready for ’em, as soon as they step off the kears. Now 
any of you that want to come out there, by’me by, you 
jest speak to Mr. Gucci oli, near here, and come right 
along 1 Child-hunters can’t ketch you out there I ” 

The children clapped their hands at this straightfor- 
ward Western speech. It was so honest and so natural. 

And then signor Guccioli and his dear old wife told 
them it was every word of it true. 

Next morning Lucia and Lorette accompanied Far- 
mer Granger on his journey. One small chest sufficed 
for the luggage of both the girls. It contained comfort- 
able clothing, including neat articles of different kinds ; 
and in one end, carefully stowed away, so as to be 
easily accessible, was the New Testament in Italian, 
and within its covers, at the front, the religious tract in 
• the same language, which the American traveller had 
given to Lorette, in Florence, years ago. 

As the young emigrants stood with their friends in a 
retired corner of the railway depot, they joined their 
voices together, and sweetly sang : 

There 's a land that is fairer than day. 

And by faith we can see it afar; 

For the Father waits over the way, 

^ To prepare us a dwelling-place there : 

In the sweet by and by 

We shall meet on that beautiful shore. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE PRAIRIE SHELTER. 

We heeded not the wild blast, 

Nor winter’s icy air; 

We found our climate in our hearts: 

And it was summer there. 

Butler, 

rpiIAT was a pleasant journey from New York to 
Prairie-Land. 

The two children found themselves well 'entertained 
by the way, at every stage. When they arrived in sight 
of their new home, and were about leaving the cars, 

“ There it is ! ” cried Farmer Granger, pointing out 
the window with a joyous smile, “ that ^s it; over 
there!” 

The girls looked across the prairie, a short distance ; 
and there, embowered in an orchard, surrounded by 
trellises and hanging vines, with a forest of trees in 
the back-ground, stood a neat farm-house. 

‘‘ That ’s ‘ Prairie Home,’ children,” continued Farmer 
Granger, as he landed with his charge on the platform; 

that ’s where we ’re going. And ^ mother Granger,’ 
as I love to call her, will be there, I know, to bid us 
welcome.” 

Nor was Farmer Granger at all mistaken. Standing 
on the porch, the picture of health and good-nature, a 
liattern of a Western farmer’s wife, the good woman 
greeted them all with true Western hospitality. 

164 


The Prairie Siielter. 


165 


Never was there a more cordial welcome given to 
guests than that which Mrs. Granger gave these poor 
children from far over the sea. They were invited in 
as those who had been pleasantly looked for, and foi 
whom a home had been prepared in the heart as well 
as the house. 

Months wore on. The two girls had begun to learn 
the independent ways of American fixrmers. Their 
sweet music added new charms to the prairie home- 
stead. They seemed to know the blessedness of honest 
toil as they never knew it before. 

But the time came when the two girls must part. It 
was a sad day. They had grown up together as chil- 
dren, in Florence, and seemed to be inseparable. To- 
gether they had come to America, and passed through 
the terrible privations of padronism. How could they 
be separated? Having been hunted together, could 
they not now dwell together in peace ? 

It was finally arranged that when Lucia went to the 
house of a near neighbor, which had been selected for 
her, Lorette should be her companion on the way, and 
remain with her for a short time. 

Mr. David Storey, and Martha, his wife, to whom 
' Lucia was to be sent, were among the first settlers of 
that prairie. Mr. Storey had with his own hands 
felled the wood that built the only log-cabin that at 
one time stood in sight, for miles around. This cabin 
had now given way to a much larger and more com- 
fortable mansion, in which they dwelt. They had no 
children. From what they had heard of her history 
and qualities, they looked forward with pleasure to the 
coming of their new ward — perhaps as one who might 
become their adopted daughter. 

What a change for Lucia ! 


166 


The Child-Hunters, 


The house was called ‘‘Woodland Grove/’ It stood 
on the margin of one of those clear, silvery lakes with 
which the prairie country of that part of America so 
much abounds. Fruit-trees, vines, flowers, and other 
accompaniments of an American home, marked the 
quiet spot. It seemed like paradise to the little wan- 
derers. The welcome to Woodland Grove was as cor- 
diail as that which had been extended at Prairie Home. 

So the time wore away. The two girls were happily 
and usefully employed on the prairie of America. 
They had both at last escaped from the toils of the 
child-hunters. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

A RE-UNION. 

Affection bringeth down to earth its native heaven; 
Earth hath naught else that may supply its place. 

Landon, 

B oth Lucia and Lorette, from their happy American 
homes, still turned their thoughts lingeringly to 
Italy. They had been so situated, as will readily be 
conceived, as to hear but seldom from their parents. 

One beautiful October day, when the work devolved 
upon her by her position was all done, Lorette sat down 
to write to her father and mother. Here is a copy of 
her letter : 

“Prairie Home — 

October 17 th, 18—. 

Dear Parents : — This is the first time I have had 
a good opportunity to write to you, since I came to 
America. 

“ Lucia is still with me. We are living both together, 
out West from the city of New York. The padroni 
are both dead ; so I can write, now, without being 
punished by them. 

“ Oh ! dear father and mother ! you don’t know how 
much we have suffered. But I can’t tell you any more 
about that, now. We are happy, again, and are with 
kind people. What is best of all, I hope we have both 
become Christians. Oh ! I understand, now, as I didn’t 
use to, all about that little book ‘ Come to Jesus,’ which 
the good American lady gave me, ever so long ago, in 
Florence. I hope I know what coming to Jesus means. 
Oh ! it makes me so happy to love and serve Him ! 

1G7 


1G8 


The Child- Hunters, 


“ But what I took up my pen to write this letter for, 
beside telling you how I am, and where I am, and how 
Lucia is, here close by where I live, is to invite you 
both to come and stay with me, here in America. 
Farmer — that is — Mr. Hardy Granger, where I have 
such a good place, has told me I might invite you ; and 
mother Granger says she would like ever so much to 
have you come. They have a convenient cottage house, 
near by, where you can have a home, and be ever so 
comfortable. 

“Now, dear papa and mamma! say, w^onT you come 
and live near me, here in America? 

“ Mr. Granger says he will write to the American Con- 
sul, at Leghorn, who will send you word at Florence, 
and fix it all right about the passage. 

“ Mamma I you coax papa to come, won’t you, please ? 

“Farmer Granger — they call him Honorable Hardy 
Granger, out here in the West, — will tell the Consul 
all about where we live, and the way to come. 

“ This from your dutiful daughter, 

“Lorette Ferenza.” 

Lucia was almost as anxious to have Mr. and Mrs. 
Ferenza emigrate to America as Lorette was ; for then, 
she thought, perhaps her own parents would soon fol- 
low. 

“ O I ” cried see, clapping her hands, in her exuber- 
ant way, “ would n’t that be nice ? ” 

Early in the following spring the answer came to 
Lorette’s letter. To the inexpressible joy of Lucia the 
news accompanied it that her parents, also, would 
emigrate. Here was a surprise, indeed I Lucia was as 
truly affectionate as Lorette ; but knowing the peculiar 
ties that bound her parents to Italy, she had hardly 
expected that they would be so ready to come to Amer- 
ica. 

Both Farmer Granger and Mr. Storey had made the 
arrangements for emigration so complete, that the thing 
was easily accomplished. 


A Re-union, 


169 


Towards the close of a sunny day in the ensuing 
month of June, word came to Farmer Granger that a 
company of emigrants wished to see him at the rail- 
way station. Instantly guessing who they were, the 
good man hurried to the place. It is needless to say 
who accompanied him. 

The people at the station had been put to an utter 
loss by the strangers. They could not understand a 
word they said — except that one party could repeat 
‘‘Granger,” and the other party “Storey.” This was 
a sufficient cue, however, and it was not long ere the 
whole thing was perfectly well understood. 

What a scene! Such hugging and kissing! Siich 
silvery volumes of Italian ! Such flowing tributes to 
the dear old land ! 

Farmer Granger and Uncle David Storey stood in 
the midst of the crowd, looking on with delight, and 
listening with curious wonder to a language of which 
they knew next to nothing. 

Among that little company of emigrants the mingled 
tears flowed down like rain. Joy and sorrow ran over 
their flxces together, and alternate sobs of grief and 
bursts of merriment marked the scene. There was no 
child-hunter there ! 

15 



CHAPTER XIX. 

TRE PLEASANT JOURNEY, 

* Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art with me.’ — Psalm XXIIl. 

T here was one shadow on the picture. Mrs. Fe- 
renza had come to America a confirmed invalid. 
Even the genial climate of her native Italy, and the 
tender assiduity of friends, could not keep her health 
from sinking. 

A quiet home was at once provided for her husband, 
in which she shared. A useful occupation was soon 
given him, suited to his former pursuits ; and every- 
thing around was made as agreeable as possible to the 
new-comers. It was America’s welcome to Italy. 

‘‘I have just taken a long journey,” said Mrs. Fe- 
renza, one day, when alone with her daughter, in 
their neat American cottage. “But I am about to 
take another, and a longer one.” 

“ Why, mother ! ” replied the young girl, with evident 
anxiety : “ what do you mean ? Where are you going? ” 
Mrs. Ferenza was silent. Her soft blue eyes were 
turned upward. She paused a moment of unspoken 
prayer, and quietly replied : 

“ I am going there^ my child ! ” pointing her delicate 
hand toward Heaven. 

Noticing the inquiring look that her daughter gave, 
and that her eyes were swimming with tears, and her 
lips quivering with emotion, she slowly continued : 

170 


The Pleasant Journey. 


171 


I cannot tell you all, now, Lorette. I am too weak. 
Indeed, dear daughter ! you don’t know how very weak 
I am.” 

“ Oh ! my mother ! ” was all that Lorette could utter, 
as she leaned over gently on the bosom where she had 
so often lain when a little child. 

For many succeeding moments the mother and the 
daughter lay thus in each other’s arms. 

That evening, when Mr. Ferenza returned from his 
work, he saw at once that something unusual had oc- 
curred. Both mother and daughter looked downcast, 
and their eyes were red with weeping. 

He knew, at a glance, the whole truth. His wife 
was dying of consumption. He had seen the initial 
signs of the dread disease growing on her cheeks. 
Now the seeds that had for years been planted within 
her loving breast were blossoming for the grave. 

Stepping softly to her side, and imprinting a warm 
kiss on her pallid lips, he took her cold hand and 
tenderly pressed it in both of his own. 

Giovanni ! dear Giovanni ! ” she murmured, like the 
music of an jEolian harp, “ I am going on another jour- 
ney ; and we must part ! I shall not go alone ! ” 

As he looked his pain through his tearful eyes, she 
sweetly added : 

“ But it ’s a pleasant journey, Giovanni ! — a very 
pleasant journey. I have been for a long while getting 
ready for it; and everything is prepared. You remem- 
ber how often I have told you how my mind was affect- 
ed by the little American book that was given to Lo- 
rette. It was the book with the invitation on it — ‘ Come 
TO Jesus.’ I began to try to come to Jesus when I first 
read that invitation; and have been trying, ever since, 
to come nearer and nearer to Him. When that good 


172 


The Child- Hunters. 


French minister, who left his card with ns at the time 
he paid us that Christian visit, more fully explained to 
us our duty, I gave my heart to Christ. I have been so 
happy ever since then ! I am so happy now ! Giovan- 
ni! I want to have you love Jesus with all your heart. 
Then, when I am gone, you will come to Heaven, too, 
and we will live there together forever! ” 

She sank back exhausted on the lounge. Mr. Feren- 
za had knelt close by her side, and bent down his weep- 
ing eyes in the hollow of his hand. His whole frame 
shook with suppressed emotions. 

Angela Ferenza was no common woman. Born and 
educated in a Christian country, she had long been a 
Christian in name. But she had now come to Christ, 
by faith in prayer, and without the intervention of ex- 
traneous objects. She repented of her sins and believed 
on Christ for herself; and for herself, and not for 
another, Christ had accepted her soul. 

One beautiful day in the autumn — one of those rich 
American days which are so much like their kindred 
days in Italy — Mrs. Ferenza called her little family 
circle around her. Her husband was by her head, hold- 
ing it tenderly in his arms ; and near bj^, bathing the 
soft marble brow, was the once hunted and now recover- 
ed Lorette. Lucia, changed, yet charming Lucia, stood 
at the foot of the bed, while Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, who 
had accompanied the Ferenzas, Mr. and Mrs. Granger 
and Mr. and Mrs. Storey, were grouped at hand. 
Beligion had also completely changed the Garcias. 

The evening sun of America was shedding his golden 
rays on these Italian guests, and their American hosts. 
The room was full of resplendent light, softened by the 
neat white curtains that festooned the windows. 

“ Bend your face down close to mine, dear Giovanni ! 


The Pleasant Journey, 


173 


whispered the dying wife to her husband. Come, 
daughter, and stand on the other side,” she continued, 
glancing at Lorette. Now sing to me ! ” she added, 
faintly: “sing me a song of Heaven! Sing it to one 
of the -tunes of Italy! ” 

The little company could only answer this dying 
request with sighs and sobs, which continued for some 
moments. Lucia, the gifted singer, began with a heart- 
broken voice of sweetest melody, and sang so softly, so 
tenderly, it seemed as if an unseen seraph were singing 
in the room : 

I am going up home, to my Father^s house. 

Where the many bright mansions be; 

To the city whose streets are all covered with gold. 

To the walls and the gates pure and fair to behold, 
Which the righteous shall ever see! 

O ! home, sweet home, sweet home ! 

I am going to Heaven, my home! 

Beyond the bright gate 
Many mansions await 
The weary who journey home ! 

Just as the last lingering echo of the word ‘home’ 
died away in the room, the happy Italian Christian 
entered on the Heavenly part of her ‘ pleasant jour- 
ney.’ She had gone home to Heaven. 

15 * 



CHAPTEK XX. 

HOME AT LAST. 


Let us depart! the universal sun 
Confines not to one land his blessed beams; 

Nor is man rooted, like a tree whose seed 
The winds on some uncongenial coast 
Have cast, where none may ever prosper. 

Southey. 

M e. FEEENZA and his daughter landed on the pier 
at Leghorn. 

This is the stone pillar where I left mother leaning, 
when I sailed away for America, said Lorette, as the 
two passed up to the town. 

Yes,” responded Mr. Ferenza, I have stopped at 
it many a time, since you have been gone, as I have 
visited this old harbor. She is happy now. Her 
‘pleasant journey’ has indeed ended in Heaven. We 
would not call her back, daughter, even if we could.” 

They were soon in Florence. A short drive brought 
them again to the Mansion di Lapo. It was still vacant. 
They entered, and passed rapidly all over it. 

“ Just the thing I ” exclaimed Lorette, with a sudden 
rapture, after the first silent pause of subdued memo- 
ries had passed. “Let us now plan it all out. Here 
shall be our partition to separate the children — the 
boys from the girls. What do you say, father, to open- 
ing another door for a new entrance, on the side toward 

174 


Home at Last 


175 


the Arno ; and a bay window, for more light and better 
ventilation ? 

All right,” he replied, with a smile. We will fix 
the school-room American fashion, just as it should be, 
to do our best for the scholars. Our friends in America 
will stand by us, I am sure ! ” 

And Lucia will be so glad to come back to Italy, 
and join us ! ” continued Lorette, when we get every- 
thing all nicely fixed.” 

“ Lucia shall be here without delay,” said Mr. Feren- 
za, joining in the enthusiasm of Lorette. “Every ob- 
stacle to her return is now removed in America. I am 
certain that Farmer Granger and Deacon Storey will 
make all right.” 

“ O ! won’t it be delightful ! ” said Lorette, uncon- 
sciously clapping her hands as she spoke, “to have a 
Mission School, here in Florence, just like the Italian 
Mission School in New York? ” 

“ It will, indeed ! ” responded the father, glancing 
fondly in the face of his daughter, and observing, as he 
did so, her striking resemblance to her mother. He 
remembered, too, at the moment, that one of the last 
requests of his wife was that this school might be estab- 
lished. How soon had her prayers been answered ! 

The observant traveller in Florence, passing up from 
the Arno by the Palazzo Vecchia^ near the church of 8an 
Marco^ will observe a small neat sign swinging from a 
contiguous wall. In Koman letters he may -read these 
words : 

E’VIVA ITALIA! 


CASA DI LAPO. 


L’eSCOLA DI 

LUCIA ET LOKETTE. 


176 


The Child-Hunters. 


[teanslation.] 
LONG LIVE ITALY ! 


MANSION DI LAPO. 

SCHOOL OF 

LUCIA AND LOEETTE. 

The merchant Marina, like his fellow-criminals in 
America, had fallen into habits of dissipation. Stimu- 
lated by the drinking frivolities of his equally guilty 
wife, he had died in a drunken fit; and she soon fol- 
lowed him to a drunkard’s grave. 

Captain del Paso had been found dead in one of the 
vaults of the grand cathedral, with an empty bottle by 
his side. 

Thus, one after another, the hunters of the children 
of Italy had perished in their crimes. By flood, by fire, 
by poison. 

Lucia was soon returned from America to Florence, 
bringing with her both father and mother, who had 
been happily regenerated by the grace of God. 

On one of Italy’s fairest of her many fair days, when 
the two school-mistresses, Lucia and Lorette, had been 
completely installed in their beautiful school-room in 
the classic old mansion, a stranger entered. 

He had just come with good news from sympathizing 
friends in America, and a generous donation for the 
school. 

“Many thanks for your kindness,” said signor Feren- 
za to the stranger. Mr. Ferenza had now become quite 
used to his new vocation, and made rapid strides in 
adding to the scholastic knowledge his American ex- 
perience had given him. “ We shall never forget the 
debt of gratitude we as Christian Italians owe to Chris- 
tians on American shores,” said Lorette. 


177 


^L. 

Home at Last. 

Nay/^ said the stranger, America owes her very 
existence among the nations of the earth to the dis- 
covery of an Italian sailor. In what better way can 
she repay her obligation, than by caring for the depend- 
ent children of Italy — adopted by her, as if they were 
her own? I have the honor,’’ the stranger continued, 

to occupy a public position in America, as one of the 
representatives of the Italian government. I am doing 
what I can in my position, both in the United States 
and Italy, for Italian children. 

God bless Italy! 

God bless America I ” 

There was a warm response from all the teachers in 
that Italian school-room in Florence, in which all the 
children present heartily joined. 

May every reader of this little volume sincerely 
respond : 

Let there be no more child-hunters throughout 
THE world! 

M 




ft ll 


ADDENDA. 


Furnished for publication in this rolume by Cotjnt Litta, 
Italian Ambassador at Washington. 

[LITERAL TRANSLATION.] 


VICTOR EMANUEL II., 

BY THE GRACE OF GoD AND THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 
KING OF ITALY. 

T he Senate and the Chamber of Deputies have ap- 
proved: We have sanctioned and do publish the 
following : 

Section 1. Any person who shall intrust, or under 
whatever pretence shall commit, to natives or strangers, 
other persons of either sex under the age of eighteen 
years, though his or her own children or pupils, and any 
native or stranger who shall receive them with the intent 
to employ them in the kingdom in whatever manner or 
under whatever denomination in the practise of wander- 
ing professions as Saltinbanlcs., Witches^ Charlatans., Errant 
Players or Singers., Rope-dancers., Guessers., Fortune- tellers.. 
Animal Exposers^ Beggars and similar wanderers., shall he 
punished with the imprisonment from one to three months 
and fined from 51 to 250 Lire. The sentence, by right, is 

179 


180 


Addenda, 


followed by the removal of guardians from their guardian- 
ship. The court can also exclude the guardians from the 
offices of guardianship, and deprive the parents of the 
rights of fatherly authority, for such time as will be deemed 
proper on behalf of their childyen, agreeably to the Sections 
233 and 239 of the Civil Code. 

Section 2. Any person who, in the kingdom, shall keep 
with him or herself other persons under eighteen years of 
age practising wandering professions, as mentioned in Sec- 
tion 1, who are not his or her own children, shall be 
punished with the imprisonment from three to six months 
and fined from 100 to 500 Lire. 

If the minor has been abandoned, or in consequence of 
want of nourishment or of ill treatment or abuses has been 
severely injured in his or her health, or has been com- 
pelled to abandon the keeper, the offender shall be im- 
prisoned from six months to one year, provided that the 
facts shall not constitute a greater offence. 

Section 3. Any one who shall trust or deliver in the 
kingdom, or take abroad in order to trust or deliver to 
natives or strangers abroad, persons under eighteen years 
of age, however his or her own children or pupils, and any 
native or stranger who shall receive such persons in order 
to take, trust or deliver them abroad for the purpose to 
employ them in whatever way and under whatever denom- 
ination in the practise of wandering professions as shoAvn 
in Section 1, shall be punished with imprisonment from 
six months to one year, and fined from 100 to 500 Lire. 

To the guardians and parents guilty of the offence spe- 
cified in this Section, shall be applied the dispositions of the 
second part of Section 1. 

Section 4. The natives who in a foreign state shall 
keep in the practise of the wandering professions men- 
tioned in Section 1, native persons under the age of 


Addenda, 


181 


eighteen years, shall be punished with imprisonment from 
one to two years, and fined from 500 to 1000 Lire. 

Whenever there shall result from the proceedings that 
the minor has been abandoned, or that in consequence of 
want of nourishment or of ill treatments or cruelty, has 
been severely injured in his or her health, or has been 
compelled to leave the keeper, the punishment of the im- 
prisonment can be extended as far as three years, provide! 
that the fact shall not constitute a greater offence. 

Section 5. Whoever by violence or fraud shall steal or 
cause to be stolen persons under the age of twenty-one 
years, or by arts or seductions take away, or cause to be 
taken away, persons under the age of eighteen years, from 
their parents, guardians or tutors, in order to employ them 
in the kingdom or abroad in the practise of the wandering 
professions mentioned in Section 1, shall be punished, in 
case of violence or fraud, with the confinement of three to 
five years if the employment has to take place in the king- 
dom, and with the confinement from five to seven years 
if the employment has to take place abroad ; and in case 
of arts or seductions with the imprisonment from one to 
three years if the employment has to take place in the 
kingdom, and with the imprisonment from three to five 
years if the employment has to take place abroad. 

With the same punishments, applied in the minimum of 
the time according to the difference of the cases, shall be 
punished whoever in the kingdom or in a foreign state 
shall keep with him or herself, in the practise of the 
wandering professions mentioned in Section 1, persons 
under the age of eighteen years stolen with violence or 
fraud, or drawn away with arts or seductions. 

Section 0. Whenever the minor stolen or taken away 
has been abandoned, or in consequence of want of nourish- 
ment or of ill treatments or duress, has suffered great 
16 


182 


Addenda, 


injury in his or her health, or has been compelled to leave 
the keeper, the offender shall be punished, in case of steal- 
ing by violence or fraud, with the confinement from five 
to seven years if the fact of abandonment or of ill treat- 
ment has taken place in the kingdom, and with the con- 
finement from seven to ten years if it has taken place 
abroad ; and in case of drawing away by arts or seduc- 
tions, with the imprisonment from three to five years, if 
the fact of abandonment or ill treatments has taken place 
in the kingdom, and with the confinement from three to 
seven years if it has taken place abroad. 

Whenever the fact by itself shall constitute a greater 
ofifence, there shall he applied the punishment of this 
degree, and never in the minimum of it. 

But if, before any proceeding or instance, the offender 
shall voluntarily set at liberty the person stolen or taken 
away, without having ofifended or abused said person, 
returning the same to his or her family, or to the house 
or to the persons from whom said person was taken away, 
or putting the same in a sure place, the punishment of the 
confinement shall he changed into imprisonment from one 
to three years, and the punishment of the imprisonment 
shall he from one to six months. 

Section 7. With the punishment enacted in the pre- 
ceding sections shall be punished not only the authors of 
the ofiences therein mentioned, but also their accomplices. 

Section 8. Whatever contract of trusting or commit- 
ting in any form it may he disposed for one of the pur- 
poses mentioned in Sections 1 and 8, either made before 
or after the publication of this law, is null and of no effect, 
however the scope may have been concealed or simulated 
in whatever way and either through interposed indorse- 
ments in the kingdom or abroad. 

Section 9. The parents, guardians and any other 


Addenda. 


183 


person who shall have intrusted or delivered persons 
under the age of eighteen years, to he employed in the 
practise of wandering professions, shall, under penalty of 
being fined from 51 to 100 Lire, within three months from 
the publication of this law, denounce or notify to tho 
Mayor of the community in which they reside, or to the 
Diplomatic or Consular Representatives of the kingdom 
of Italy if they are abroad, their children or pupils em- 
ployed in the kingdom or abroad in the professions men- 
tioned in Section 1. 

The notification or declaration shall contain the full 
name, the age and place of birth of the minors and of the 
persons to whom they were delivered, and with whom 
they are, the place of the present or last residence, tho 
profession in which they were employed, and all the in- 
formations necessary in order to trace them. 

Section 10. All persons keeping with themselves in 
the kingdom or abroad any natives under the age of 
eighteen years employed in the practise of wandering 
professions, shall, under the penalty of being fined from 
100 to 500 Lire, denounce or notify, within four months 
from the publication of this law, to the Mayor of the 
community where they reside, or to the Diplomatic or 
Consular Representatives of the King of Italy, if they are 
abroad, all persons under eighteen years of age, kept by 
them employed in the practise of the wandering professions. 

At the same time they must return them to their families 
if they are in the kingdom, or at their own expenses cause 
them to be returned to their native country if they are 
abroad ; and not being able to do so directly, they must 
within the same time present them to the Mayor, or to 
the Diplomatic or Consular Royal Representatives, who 
shall provide for their return to their families or to their 
countries as disposed in Section 12. 


184 


Addenda, 


Section 11. The Mayors and the Eoyal Kepresentatives 
abroad, within six months from the publication of this 
law, shall officially complete, according to the information 
gathered, a catalogue of the native minors of their com- 
munity or consulate, who are employed in the kingdom 
or abroad, in the wandering professions mentioned in 
Section 1. They shall avail themselves of the notifi- 
cations or declarations prescribed in the Sections 9 and 
10, and complete them in what is necessary, gathering 
and adding all other informations, which may be useful 
to return said minors to their families or to their countries, 
or for the application of the penalties of this law. 

Section 12. Said catalogue shall he forwarded to the 
Ministry of the Interior, and at the same time the Mayors 
and Eoyal Diplomatic and Consular Eepresentatives shall 
dispose for the immediate, return of the minors included 
in the same catalogue, to their families, or to their coun- 
tries. 

The necessary expenses, if said Eoyal Eepresentatives 
could not have other means at their disposition, shall be 
advanced by the government, with the right of reimburse- 
ment on the responsible charge of the parents or guar- 
dians, keepers or padroni. 

Section 13. Whenever the minors mentioned in the 
preceding Sections shall be without parents, guardians or 
any other person to take care of them, and of their edu- 
cation, they shall be sheltered in a public establishment 
of education or work until they shall be of age, or they 
shall have learnt a profession or a trade. 

Section 14. The penal action for the facts foreseen by 
the present law, shall be officially carried on by the public 
Ministry, and also in contumacy of the accused absent 
from the kingdom. Shall be applied to the same, if not 
otherwise disposed by this law, the first part of the Penal 


Addenda. 


185 


Code ‘and the general regulations on the competency of 
the Judicial Authorities. 

In the trial there can be produced also the minutes, 
returns, letters and other evidences, however private, 
coming from abroad. 

Section 15. The dispositions of the present law shall 
have effect from its publication. But those of the 2d and 
4th Sections shall take effect at the end of the four months 
allowed by Section 10. 

Notwithstanding if there is any fact already punishable 
by the Penal Code, there shall be applied the disposition 
of this Section. 

We order the present law, bearing the seal of the States, 
to bo inserted in the official collection of the laws and 
decrees of the kingdom of Italy, and to be observed and 
cause to be observed by all persons that it may concern as 
a law of the kingdom. 

Given in Rome, December 21st, 1873. 

ViCTOE Emanuel. 

V IGLIANI. 

Visconti Yenosta. 

This is to certify that the above is the exact literal trans- 
lation of the Italian law forbidding the employment 
of children in vagrant professions, promulgated by a 
Royal Decree of the 21st December, 1873. 

New York, 23d January, 1874. 

The Consul General of Italy in the U. S., 

[L. S.] Feed. De Luca. 

16* 


186 


Addenda, 


LAWS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMEBICA. 

PADEONI ACT. 

Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives 
of the United States of America^ in Congress assembled : 
Section 1. That whoever shall knowingly and wdlfully 
bring into the United States, or the Territories thereof, 
any person inveigled or forcibly kidnapped in any other 
country, with intent to hold such person so inveigled or 
kidnapped in confinement, or to any involuntary service, 
any other person for any term whatever, and every person 
who shall knowingly and wilfully hold to involuntary ser- 
vice any person so sold and bought, shall be deemed guilty 
of a felony ; and on conviction thereof shall be imprisoned 
for a term not exceeding five years, and pay a fine not ex- 
ceeding five thousand dollars. 

Section 2. That every person who shall be accessory 
to any of the felonies herein declared, either before or 
after the fact, shall be deemed guilty of felony ; and on 
conviction thereof be imprisoned for a term not exceeding 
five years, and pay a fine not exceeding one thousand 
dollars. 

4:Zd Congress^ chapter 464. Approved June 23, 1874. 


Addenda. 


187 


PADKONI LAW OF PENNSYLVANIA. 
[official copy.] 

Furnished for this Volume by Count Litta, Italian Charge 
dAffaires^ from the Archives of the Embassy. 

No. 110. 

AN ACT 

To Peevent Teaffio in Childeen. 

Section 1. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of 
Kepresentatives of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania in 
General Assembly met, and it is hereby enacted by the 
authority of the same, That all and every person or per- 
sons, whether parent, relative, guardian, employer or 
otherwise, having in his or their care, custody or control, 
lawful or unlawful, any minor under the age of eighteen 
years, who shall apprentice, give away, let out, hire or 
otherwise dispose of such minor or minors to any person, 
for the purpose of singing, playing on musical instruments, 
begging, or for any mendicant business whatsoever, in the 
streets, roads and other highways of this Commonwealth, 
and whosoever shall take, receive, hire, employ, use or 
have in custody any such minor for the vocation, occupa- 
tion, calling, service or purpose of singing, playing upon 
musical instruments, or begging upon the streets, roads 
and other highways of this Commonwealth, and whoso- 
ever shall take, receive, hire, employ, use or have in 
custody any such minor for the vocation, occupation, call- 
ing, service or purpose of singing, playing upon musical 
instruments or begging upon the streets, roads or other 
highways of this Commonwealth, or for any mendicant 
business whatever, shall be deemed to be guilty of a mis- 
demeanor, and, upon conviction thereof before any court 


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